


Skylark

by blackeyedblonde



Series: ✨Babies, Beasties, and Breeding Kink✨ [6]
Category: Original Work
Genre: (actual litter of gryphon kits), Babies, Breeding, Cervix Penetration, Childbirth, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Forests, Griffins, Human/Monster Romance, Impregnation, Interspecies Romance, Interspecies Sex, Knotting, Love, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Monster Babies, Mutual Affection & Respect, Mystical Creatures, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nesting, Oral Sex, Other, Parenthood, Porn with Feelings, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Romance, Size Difference, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex, Vanilla Kink, Wilderness, when you just wanna disembark from society and get rawed by ur monster partner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 23,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24710722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/pseuds/blackeyedblonde
Summary: “This is just surreal,” Lydia says, eyes glazed over. “It’s so surreal I feel totally calm now. Like, everything just may as well happen, y’know? My whole reality has been upended as it is. I’m talking to a gryphon.”Sky tips their head to watch her for a long moment before going back to their grooming, this time licking the sleek fur on their hip. “You came here for something,” they say plainly. “Perhaps you don’t understand what it is, yet.”
Relationships: Original Female Character(s)/Original Non-Human Character(s)
Series: ✨Babies, Beasties, and Breeding Kink✨ [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1516019
Comments: 43
Kudos: 205





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The monsterfucker [furry-adjacent? lol] breeding content is back; this time, in an original setting with original characters so I am beholden to no king or country. I just have these agonizingly soft vanilla takes on kink and I’m sorry I always write about the same three things. It’s self care.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, I’m thinking the gryphons don’t necessarily have bird beaks, but soft muzzles and vaguely feline/canid features despite their wings and bird talons. Think more along the line of Trico from The Last Guardian. That’ll come in handy later 👀
> 
> CW, if needed: Lydia is AFAB and identifies that way throughout. Sky the gryphon has hermaphroditic anatomy and is referred to using they/them pronouns, but is the topping partner in this story. Mind the tags! Everything is consensual. 
> 
> Chapter 1 is establishing relationships and setting + the initial porn; Chapter 2 is babies being born and much softness, kept separate for people who may want to steer clear of that. This hasn't been beta read but I do hope you enjoy!

  
  
Lydia supposes it’d be just her luck, winding up as another statistic. 

She hadn’t meant to lose her footing when she wandered away from the trailhead to inspect a clump of buttery chanterelle mushrooms. But it rained long and hard the night before in the canyon and though the sun had shone through overcast cloud cover all day, by late afternoon the leaves are still slick and the soil damp and soggy underneath them. She should’ve been able to catch herself and on any other occasion would’ve done just that—but there’s no traction on the incline and when Lydia slips she drops and skids all the way down the steep ravine. 

The tearing brambles and rotted stumps don’t do much to stop her fall until her ankle, at long treacherous last, catches fast between the V-shaped branches of a young sapling and _cracks._

For a moment Lydia thinks she’s gone blind, the pain is so bad. It explodes behind her eyes in a blackout edged with kaleidoscope color bursting at the edges, and then slowly, gradually, she realizes she’s looking straight up at the forest canopy like it’s at the end of a long tunnel. The whole world has gone eerily quiet, save for her rattled breathing and ringing in her ears. 

“Shit,” she croaks, squeezing her eyes shut as her ankle throbs in time with her heartbeat. Her whole body still hurts too badly to even host coherent thought longer than a single consonant. “Shit, shit, _shit!_ ” 

Two false starts get her hiking boot wedged out from between the branches but she can hardly move to sit up, much less put any weight on her foot. Darkness will fall in less than two hours, and Lydia knows this is not a good place to be without cell service and a three-mile hike to her jeep at the bottom of the canyon. 

A long life of lackluster achievements and fuck-ups only to end up on the back of a missing person milk carton as her one shining moment of glory. At least, until some poor bastard finds her sun-bleached bones several years down the line when his overeager dog brings back a hiking boot with a shin bone sticking out of it. But with both her parents dead and gone and not much family left to speak of, who would even care now?

What a way to go out.  
  
Lydia tries her phone two dozen times and another dozen more but can’t even get a dial tone. Eventually she finds enough energy to sit up and pull herself back against the trunk of an old tree, facing outward across a clearing at the bottom of the ravine where stagnant rainwater has gathered in shallow pools. She thinks she can hear a stream trickling nearby but doesn’t know for sure. There’s bear spray in her bag, a half-eaten granola bar, a map, one spare pair of socks, and her water canteen. But no emergency flare, no other weapons, and nothing to wrap or brace her ankle with. 

Now that her head is clear enough to think, it’s difficult not to notice that the wildlife remains eerily quiet. Her fall couldn’t have spooked the birds and cicadas that badly, at least to the point where they’d still be silent. But all the usual cawing and buzzing chatter is replaced with nothing but dead, empty airspace. 

A chill blooms at the base of Lydia’s skull and runs down her spine like a cold finger, and she immediately feels her throat and gut tighten with some unknown dread. Even if she can’t _see_ , her body already knows she’s being watched. That’s the gift of fear.

Lydia fumbles the bear spray from her backpack, ignoring the bleeding scratches on her hands and forearms from the bramble thorns. She looks left and right, back still ramrod against the tree trunk, and wonders if it’ll be easier to scare off a cougar or a bear. The good thing about big cats is they like to sneak up from behind, and even if she’s in the open most lions wouldn’t be brazen enough to come at her from the front. A grizzly, on the other hand, would be a different story. 

“Who’s there?” Lydia calls out, right hand fumbling for the closest thing she can reach in the damp leaves. Her fingers wrap around a piece of larger branch and she holds it up like a spear, wishing she’d had the time and strength to stand so at least she’d have the advantage of a few more feet of height. 

Not even a single twig snaps, but there’s a sudden _whoosh_ of cool air all at once, strong enough to scatter leaves, and then something _big_ is descending down directly in front of her with one last grounding flap of two wings that must stretch nearly ten feet in either direction.

Lydia is too afraid to scream. Her brain tells her she should, sends all the necessary signals, but the noise she tries to make withers and dies in her throat. She doesn’t even fully comprehend what she’s looking at and can’t, merely covers her face and pulls the tab on the bear spray can just before the whole thing gets smacked from her hand with a jarring blow. 

Shock travels up her arm as the bear spray lands several yards away in the damp leaves and moss. Only then does Lydia look up at what stands before her on four clawed feet, ruffling a bit as it folds massive wings at its sides. 

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the creature says, blinking two golden eyes at her. It’s so close she can see the vertical shape of its pupils and smell the clean, earthy smell of river moss on it. The sharp talons at the tips of its feet have to be nearly three inches long apiece.

“You’re injured,” it continues without any further introduction, eyeballing Lydia with an inhuman and unreadable expression, though the tufts of hair on its pointed ears flick back and forth curiously. “You’re in no condition to fight or exert vital energy reserves.” 

They both go quiet, gazing at each other in vastly varying states of disbelief. And then—

“Watch me,” Lydia hisses, and swings hard from the side with the branch in her grasp quickly enough to land a hit on the beast’s front leg. Little good it does, because the half-rotted wood splinters and crumbles like wet styrofoam. Both woman and beast look at the broken limb and then back up at each other. 

“I can see you’re upset,” the creature says, and Lydia still can’t believe that _words_ are coming out of its _mouth_. “But these bold displays aren’t going to change much. I’m not here to consume you, if that makes you feel better.” 

This time, Lydia opens her mouth and screams for all she’s worth. 

Laying its ears flat against its skull, the beast spreads its wings and promptly lopes into the clearing, and then with a fast snap of the powerful flight feathers takes to the air and ascends upward. Within moments it's out of sight again, and Lydia slumps into the dirt, still clutching half the broken branch. She’s not expecting it when the trees overhead rustle and the limb of an old, gnarled oak creaks as the monster lights upon it and perches there like a great owl.

It peers down at her, unbothered, and then proceeds to begin grooming its feathers with a long, furry tail still hanging behind. 

“What are you doing?” Lydia shouts, feeling foolish for even asking. She has to tip her head all the way back to look straight up at the creature. 

“Waiting for you to calm down,” it says, pink-marbled tongue darting out to lick some feathers into submission. “And keeping any other nearby predators at bay in the meantime.” 

“I’ve called the forest ranger,” Lydia lies, staring up at the beast without blinking. “They’re coming to rescue me before nightfall.” 

“How quaint,” the creature answers, sounding unconvinced. “I’ll just keep watch here until they arrive, then.” 

Lydia grits her teeth but doesn’t retort at that. Is this thing playing some sick game of cat and mouse, she wonders, and toying with her before it inevitably rips her to shreds? It certainly _looks_ something like a cat, but then again not much at all. The snout is a little too long, and the fur more sleek and dappled like a horse’s coat in places so rippled muscle moves visibly underneath. 

And then, of course, the greyish wings and clawed, scaly talons in place of front paws. It reminds her of something she might’ve seen in a storybook once upon a time, but is still too outlandish to name or place. Somebody like Hermione Granger would know—if only she and every other heroine from Lydia’s childhood were here to make this bad dream go away.

But the evening continues to wear on and the cicadas begin to sing once more, and never once does the creature leave its post or make any sudden move to depart. Thunder rumbles in the distance, heralding in dark clouds that blot out the last few smears of orange sunlight. Lydia pinches the inside of her wrist until there’s an angry line of welts there but she doesn’t wake up, nor does the swelling in her ankle look any better when she pulls down her sock and unlaces her boot enough to look. 

If she doesn’t look up, it’s easy to imagine the... _thing_...isn’t there at all. It’s deadly silent despite its size, and hasn’t spoken in what feels like an hour or longer. Lydia looks around through the falling darkness and tries not to panic. There’s a small overhang above a washout in the ravine she could climb under to weather the pending storm, but it’d be difficult to keep a fire going through the night in this condition. It’s almost dark as things are, and she hasn’t even begun to attempt collecting any dry kindling. 

Thunder groans again, closer this time, and Lydia shoulders her backpack and twists herself around so she’s on her hands and knees. She crawls fast toward the direction she last remembers seeing the bear spray, but before she’s even halfway there that breeze of strange wind ghosts across her skin and four feet lightly touch down on the damp earth nearby. 

“The rains will begin soon,” the creature says, careful not to touch her even though it decidedly stands between Lydia and the bear spray canister. It’s so dark in twilight that it looks like a massive shadow standing before her. “It’s not safe down here; this area is known to flood in the summer months.” 

For the first time since all this happened, tears threaten to fall. Lydia stares down at her bloody, dirty hands on the damp forest floor and wants to scream again. She’s so tired, and she hurts all over, and nothing about this makes sense. Nothing about it is fair. You go your whole life living with the relative comfort of knowing Bigfoot and the Loch Ness Monster aren’t real, and then one bad tumble over a goddamn clump of mushrooms changes everything. 

“What _are_ you?” she says, breathing fast before veering over to fall heavily onto one hip. Everything seems uselessly futile. If it wants to kill her, let it go ahead. At least it’d probably be quick. 

“I don’t think that’s pertinent information right now,” the creature says, but then blows out a long huff of air that sounds suspiciously like a sigh when it notices the hard set of Lydia’s jaw and the glassiness of her burning eyes.

“I’m a guardian of the forest,” it says, simply, like that’s the plainest knowledge in the world. “A gryphon. I was born here and I’ll likely die here, though not for a long time. I’ve known you were here since the moment you stepped foot into the woodland this morning.” 

“You’ve been stalking me?” Lydia barks out.

“No, merely watching,” it says, circling her a bit before sitting back on its haunches like a giant feline. “I watch everything here. It’s the way things are.” 

“Well, get ready to watch me crawl all the way down this damn canyon or kill myself trying,” Lydia says, slowly beginning to move again. “If you aren’t going to help me, get out of my way.” 

The gryphon steps along beside her, clearly capable of overtaking her if it wanted. “That’s why I’m here,” it says, with a little more urgency ringing in its voice. “If you’d only taken a moment to listen before you tried attacking me, we’d already be in the warm safety of my den by now.” 

“So you can fatten me up like Hansel and Gretel?” Lydia laughs, delirious with pain and exhaustion. “Not a chance in hell.” She tries to move faster, cursing herself for not having done this sooner. It’ll be a long three miles down the trail in the dark—if she can even find it again at this rate, but she’s determined until her palm splits on a sharp stick and pain shoots up her right arm like a heated fire poker. 

Lydia yelps, cursing again, and slumps over in the wet leaves again when her left arm won’t bear all her weight. She feels so weak and helpless and pathetic, the gryphon must sense the same thing because it makes a low sound in its throat and steps forward. Lydia just lies there with her breath coming fast and lets it stand over her. It’d be so easy for it to end things in this moment when she’s as vulnerable as she is. All she has to do is open her arms and welcome it. 

What she doesn’t expect, though, is a warm, velveteen nose snuffling into her palm, nor the hot breath and soft tongue that darts out to lick the dark blood oozing from the wound until the dirt is cleaned away.

“Like licking iron ore,” the gryphon says with some air of distaste, dropping its head to bump her backpack. “Do you have anything to help the bleeding?” 

Slightly stunned, Lydia nods and fumbles through her pack until she pulls out the socks. She slips one on like a mitten and ties the other around her palm in a knot, trying to pull it tighter with her teeth. 

“I have a poultice you can apply,” the gryphon says, satisfied for now with her makeshift bandage. “A gift from the gnomes.” 

Lydia blinks, too tired to even argue. “The gnomes,” she croaks, nodding. “Yeah. Alright.” 

“Will you come with me now?” the gryphon says, leaning down again so they’re at face level. It’s beginning to sprinkle now, a cold, needling rain that feels like pin pricks on Lydia’s stinging skin. She aches and she’s shivering and she wants to say no, but all she can do is nod her head yes.

“Will you take me back?” she asks a moment later. “In the morning—tomorrow. When the storm passes.” Just hearing it, whether it’s a lie or not, may give her enough hope to get through whatever is about to happen. 

“When it’s safe, yes,” the gryphon promises, and then kneels down on its front knees like a performing horse, as big and sturdy as a Clydesdale. It holds its wings slightly aloft, kindly bending one to the side to make room. “Come along. If you get on my back it’ll be easier for us both.” 

It’s been a decade or more since Lydia last sat on a horse, on some trail ride she went on in college, but this can’t be... _too_ different, despite the obvious. The gryphon’s back is certainly similar to a horse’s, if only a little more pronounced and rawboned in the shoulder like a jaguar.

“Carefully,” the gryphon murmurs, standing quite steady as Lydia hooks her good hand around its strange wing joint, the skin there like antler velvet, and uses it to haul herself up into a standing position. Getting her twisted ankle up and over the beast’s side takes more effort, but she finally pushes off the ground with her left foot and swings up onto the wide back.

She presses herself flat and curls her fingers in the thicker ruff of hair behind the gryphon’s neck, already unbalanced and overwhelmed as it draws up to its full height. 

“Hold on,” it tells her, as if she didn’t already know. “We’ll travel fast.” 

That’s all Lydia knows and hears before the beast she’s astride takes three bounding leaps toward a gallop and snaps its powerful wings open wide, taking to the wind like an albatross off a cliff. By some miracle they don’t clip any limbs or branches in the ascent, and within moments they’re soaring through the rain above the lofty treeline sprawling across the greater canyon.

The sensation of flying like this is unlike anything Lydia’s ever felt before. Her stomach feels like a balloon pressing under her pounding heart, but the weightlessness of moving through open air is terrifyingly incredible. She keeps her face pressed low against the gryphon’s warm back but manages to open her eyes, watching as the last weak ray of sunlight dies on the greywash horizon. It’s too cloudy to see the moon or stars, but she can spot tiny lights twinkling in the far-off distance, so small they don’t even seem real.

It seems to end almost as soon as it started, and before Lydia knows it she feels the creature descending toward some impenetrable dark shape in front of them. The great wings draw up and tilt to prepare for landing, and then with the soft scrape of talons on rockface the gryphon steps onto a natural shelf cut deep into the side of the canyon. 

Taking a few steps inside the dry mouth of the den, it kneels back down again and lays there with Lydia still clinging to its back. 

“We’ve arrived,” it says, not unkindly, stretching its graceful neck around to bump her knee with its nose. “It’s safe here. You need to wash up and rest.” 

Lydia fumbles off the gryphon’s back and stands, unsteadily, one hand braced against the cavern wall. It’s too dark to see much beyond the mouth of the den, but she can still make out the stain of pigment painted on the rock under her wrapped palm; a whole scene plays out in hand-painted symbols and figures, stretching further down the wall. 

After the gryphon shakes the rainwater off its feathers and coat like a wet dog, there’s a clatter of metal and a strange cough from deeper in the cavern, and then the beast comes back with the glowing end of a smoldering stick in its mouth. It holds the embers to a bundle of kindling on a small hearth in the ground and slowly ignites the brush until a small fire is crackling. 

Lydia hobbles over until she can sink down on the ground closer to the fire. Her swollen ankle throbs and her hand isn’t in much better shape, but by the firelight the gryphon’s eyes glow like heated amber and it’s hard not to stare. She makes herself look away, suddenly mute and unsure of what she should do or say. But there is a pot of tepid water waiting there, and she carefully rinses her hands in it, washing away the dirt and dried blood.

“What are you called?” the gryphon asks, going to fetch something in a darker part of the cavern she can’t see. Lydia thinks she hears the creak of old iron hinges, the terrified squeal of a small rodent, and then a thud. The beast comes back with a green glass bottle in its claw, so thick it looks like carved emerald. 

“Uh, my name is Lydia,” she tells it, stiffening as the creature closes in on her again to bump the back of her injured hand. They’re both quiet for a few moments while the gryphon passes the green bottle over, silently gesturing for Lydia to apply it. The substance inside smells strong and herbaceous, thick and gelatinous but pleasantly cooling to the touch. 

“Lydia,” the gryphon repeats in that low voice, ignoring the tremor that runs through her human body at their close contact. “You can call me Skylark.” 

“ _Skylark?”_ Lydia repeats aloud. “Like…Chip Skylark?” 

The gryphon looks at her with hooded but quizzical eyes, slit pupils dilating slightly. “I don’t know who you’re talking about,” it sighs. “—but yes, I suppose. If there happens to be more than one like you suggest.” 

Lydia snorts out a laugh and then tries to slap a hand over her mouth a moment too late. “Sorry, never mind,” she says, trying not to let hysterics bubble any further up into her throat. “I just…oh, man. That’s nice. It’s a lovely name.” She goes quiet, looking the beast over again—the steely feathers and smooth slate coat dappled over with glossy silver. “I think it’s fitting.” 

“My parents wouldn’t have named me as such if it wasn’t,” the gryphon answers dryly, the tip of its tail flicking a bit agitatedly. Lydia sobers up at the sight, swiftly reminded of her childhood cat in the few fleeting moments before it would launch an attack. 

“Could I call you Sky, for short?” she asks, hoping that in itself isn’t adding further insult to injury. Skylark’s eyes glimmer at the question, nostrils flaring a bit, and Lydia immediately tries to recoup lost ground. “I’m sorry if that was a stupid question, I really didn’t mean to offe—”

“No, I think that suits me fine,” the gryphon says, standing to languidly stretch its front claws out on the floor of the cave while its wing joints shift and then settle back in place. “Sky. I do spend a lot of time there.” 

Lydia feels relief wash over her despite the chill of her damp hair and clothes. The fire is beginning to warm up, but she’s still soaked down to the bone and has nothing else to wear or change into. It feels foolish to even ask, but the gryphon seems to anticipate her thoughts before she can even decide to voice them. 

“You should take off your overcoat and pants so they can dry,” Sky says, meandering off to pull some other new artifact from its mysterious trove of supplies. “I have pelts to keep you warm, if you don’t wish to sleep in my nest.” 

“Your nest?” Lydia asks, looking around with renewed interest. As sure as anything, deeper in the cavern on a slab of stone that juts out like a shelf, she can see the edge of an elaborate weaving of sticks and brush braided together into a wide nest. If she stood, it would probably be at chest level—just high enough to keep it from getting wet if the floor of the cavern ever flooded. 

A thousand different questions flood Lydia’s mind all at once. Does the gryphon sleep there? Does it have a mate? Does it lay eggs? Are there _more_ lurking creatures she needs to worry about showing up before the night is over? 

In the end, it’s easiest to ask the simplest questions first. “Are you alone here?” Lydia tries, cumbersome fingers trying to undo the snaps on her jacket. “Or do you, uh...do you have a partner...gryphon?” 

“I’m alone,” Sky says, gazing at her without blinking. They sit back on their hindquarters again, long tail curling around their feet. “If you’re asking if I have a breeding mate, the answer is no—not for a very long time now. But I don’t see why such things would interest a human.” 

“Well, y’know,” Lydia mumbles, feeling her face flush hot. This is so strange, all of it spelled out like a fever dream no matter where she looks. “Sorry, I just...wondered if you have the whole place to yourself, or maybe a jealous lover was going to come home in the middle of the night and kill me in your bed, whatever. It’s not like I’m in shock or anything.” 

“Are you?” Sky asks, still peering at her. “In shock.” 

Lydia gnaws on her bottom lip and slowly continues undressing until she’s down to nothing but her t-shirt and underwear, consciously holding her legs together and trying to cover her chest as chills crawl up her calves and the backs of her arms. 

“I—I’m not sure,” she says, truthfully. She feels vaguely stunned in the face of all this, but she’s still managing to function for the most part. Maybe her body knows she doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, considering she’s currently several hundred feet in the air, sitting in the den of a mythical monster. 

The rain continues its downpour outside, creating a sort of waterfall at the mouth of the rocky overhang. It’s still cold despite the crackling fire and Lydia wishes she’d thought to bring a change of clothes. Her ankle hurts and she wants to cry again, feeling the familiar heat prickle dangerously behind her eyes. 

“I’m just tired,” she says, voice breaking some at the edges. She looks away and scrubs a hand across her face, looking down miserably at the one still covered in gooey poultice. “I wish I was at home right now.” 

Sky inclines their head in something that may be a silent nod, then disappears into the shadows again to bring something else back: a length of crudely-cut linen material this time, raw and unbleached by human hands. “You should wrap your hand and brace your ankle, and then I’ll take you to the nest to settle down and get warm,” they say. “Let me fetch some sticks for the brace in case it’s broken.” 

In the end, the wrapping job is less than stellar, but it’ll serve its temporary purpose under these bizarre circumstances. Lydia stands and lets Sky kneel beside her again, offering themselves up as a mode of transportation to the nest. The inner part of the structure is plush and soft to contrast the stiff branches and foliage holding it together, filled with fragrant moss and down feathers and the plush skins of wild rabbits. If Lydia was expecting bones and bloody carcasses, what she finds instead is incredibly clean and tidy. 

There aren’t any pillows to speak of, but she pulls a deerskin over herself and curls up as much as her ankle will allow. Sky watches from the edge of the nest for a few moments and then, without a word, steps in and lays down beside her, briefly stretching their wings before settling in more comfortably. 

Lydia blinks wide eyes but can’t do much more beyond than that, more grateful than she might’ve initially thought to have the gryphon nearby again. Heat radiates off their body and warms the moss and furs, and the gentle billow of their side at her back is comforting in a way. In, out, in, out, steady as a ticking metronome. 

Soon the pull of slumber quickly overcomes all her aches and pains, and Lydia drops into a weary sleep. She’s none the wiser when the gryphon beside her shakes open one great dusky wing to carefully drape over her like a shroud, shielding her further from the night’s wet cold.  
  


  
* 

Lydia is alone when she next opens her eyes to full daylight. 

She’s not sure how many hours have passed or how long she’s been asleep, but when she slowly recalls the night before and sits up in what is unmistakably a giant nest, she finds Sky—as real and vibrant as anything—at the mouth of the cavern, seemingly in the process of gnawing through what looks like the hindquarter of a mule deer.

She watches them for a moment, unsure of whether to announce herself before she moves or simply just watch and wait. Her clothes still hang near the fire where she left them, and to get there she’ll need to hobble or crawl down from the ledge where the nest sits. It seems like a long trek with only one good ankle, but before Lydia can call out for help she spots the crutch-like walking stick left leaning conspicuously against the cavern wall. 

Sky’s ears prick forward and then to the side when they sense movement behind them. The gryphon turns and looks over its shoulder, still holding part of its kill between its front claws like a bird of prey. 

“Did you rest well?” they ask, watching Lydia crutch across the cavern floor to reach for her jeans. “I was worried you might sleep the whole day away.” 

When Lydia checks the time on her dying cell, she’s surprised to find it’s a quarter until noon. She slips into her pants and finds them only slightly damp but otherwise manageable, then spots the clutch of mushrooms that have been left out on a piece of bark there at the fireside. Exactly, oddly enough, like the chanterelles she’d been looking at when she fell into the ravine the afternoon before.

“I slept....super hard,” Lydia mumbles, voice still rough with sleep. Her mouth waters at the sight of the mushrooms, but she doesn’t have a skillet nor a meager pat of butter to fry them in, so she settles for the remaining granola bar in her pack instead and wolfs down a big bite. “Thanks for watching out over me,” she says once she’s washed down the granola, and gestures toward the mushrooms. “These look great.” 

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Sky says, getting up from their breakfast to walk over. “I don’t know how you prepare them, but if you’d like to take them with you, be my guest.” 

Lydia nods and stuffs some of the fungi in the cleaner of her two socks from last night’s makeshift hand wrap to wash and prepare at home, later. She aches at the thought of home, _home_ , wishing deeply she was there right now. 

“I need to...get this looked at,” Lydia says a bit meekly, holding up her bum ankle while she leans on the crutch. “I can point you in the direction of my car...hopefully it’s still there, Jesus.” 

Sky stays quiet for a long beat, watching her. Their eyes glint in a peculiar way, but then the gryphon turns away and goes back to the mouth of the cavern to pick up their deer leg. They carry it further into the tunnel system and stow it somewhere out of sight, and then come back with the green pot of salve. 

“Take this, too,” Sky says, pressing it toward Lydia with one clawed talon. “It will help heal any wounds twice as fast.” 

“I—really appreciate all this, everything you’ve done,” Lydia says, clearing her throat. “Uhm. Thank you, for helping me. I don’t know if I’d be alive right now if you hadn’t.” 

Sky tips their head to one side, a friendly looking gesture. “You’re stronger than you think,” they say. “But I was glad to help.” 

There isn’t much more than that to say, and once Lydia gets her coat on she clambers back up onto the gryphon’s back with her bag and new walking stick. The flight down through the canyon is easier to weather than their soaked pilgrimage the night before, and the view from above the treetops is surreal enough to be breathtaking. 

But the flight slowly comes to its end, and from a distance Lydia spots her jeep where she left it on the shoulder of the road. Sky lands in a clearing not far away and kneels down one more time to let her down. Lydia turns and looks at the gryphon, trying to take a mental picture of this moment so she won’t ever forget it. She’s not sure what compels her, but even if she can’t quite speak around the strange knot in the back of her throat, she holds out her injured hand again. 

The soft nose presses back into the heart of it, gently nudging her in the direction of the jeep. “Go on,” Sky says, and for a moment Lydia doesn’t know if the words echoed in her mind or if they broke upon the forest air. “You can manage things from here.” 

She nods, trying to smile, and turns to limp up the narrow path toward the road. Lydia only gets a few dozen yards before she turns back around to look one more time, but when she searches for Sky again she finds they’re already gone.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  
  
  


As it turns out, the mushrooms are the most delicious fucking thing Lydia’s ever eaten. 

She sears them in nothing more than salted butter and a pinch of garlic, and practically moans when she takes the first bite that evening after coming home from urgent care in her new walking boot. Ankle broken in two places, thankfully not bad enough to need surgery, but enough that she’s going to be staying off the hiking trails for the next six weeks at least. 

The doctor was only vaguely curious about the healed edges of the wound in her hand, but doesn’t otherwise remark on it outside irrigating the gouge again and wrapping it with a fresh bandage. Lydia doesn’t breathe a word about the green pot of strange liniment nor who gave it to her, even when the doctor urges her to file an accident report with forestry services. She takes that advice in one ear and promptly empties it out the other, none too keen on sacrificing the safety of her offbeat savior. 

Sometimes she reads about mythical creatures, beings, and stories of strange cryptids seen in the woods without finding many answers. People speak of glimpses, feathers, winged monsters that escape all rhyme or reason, but never have proof or get close enough to fully describe what they saw. Other times, late in the evenings when Lydia lies awake in bed, she tries to remember the texture of Sky’s soft fur beneath her hands, or the way their side had felt against her back, slowly rising and falling. It had all seemed so _real_ , and yet—.

And yet. 

For a few weeks, she halfway convinces herself none of it had ever happened. She slipped, she fell, she hit her head on the way down and knocked something loose. Somehow weathered a night alone in the forest, and managed to hobble the three miles back to her car by the next afternoon. Crazier survival stories have happened; Lydia’s sure her simplified version wouldn’t even make top ten on the Discovery Channel countdown. 

But then the ankle boot comes off, and she starts dreaming about flying. About the feeling of power between her knees and beneath her hands, and the exhilarating freedom that comes with it. One day a friendly dog outside the grocery store licks her hand, and as it scampers off a shiver runs down her back like molten fire when her brain kicks up a memory she thought she’d merely imagined. 

It takes another week for Lydia to decide she’s going back to the canyon. 

The decision is a rash one made in the middle of her workday on a Friday. She hurriedly finishes up her client emails, cobbles together an automated away response, and starts throwing clothes onto the bed. Her old sleeping bag is still at the top of the storage closet in the hallway and she pulls that down and straps it to her backpack before gathering up all the granola bars and a few cans of soup and packing those, too. Canteen, moderate first aid, a map, her suspiciously dented can of bear spray, a gnarled walking stick, and the emerald pot of salve all follow suit. 

Lydia stops at the store on her way into the canyon and buys a pack of flares this time, for good measure. The weather is beginning to cool off more every day but still rains with all the vigor of midsummer storms and she can’t risk another fall or wayward step without being able to signal for help. 

Once she’s parked the jeep at the public campsite area she gets out and starts walking up to the canyon trail, feeling half-crazed but still somehow determined. Her motive currently escapes her; is she here to prove something to herself, or is it more than that? In all her weeks away from the forest she hasn’t told a soul about Sky or where they live. The more time passes the less real it all seems, but this is a secret she’s kept tightly clenched in one fist, afraid to let it out into the open for fear of what other people would say or think.

Even more than that, even deeper down, she’s all too aware she’s selfishly wanted to keep this for herself, like something beautiful to be cherished and coveted away from the prying eyes of other people. 

Lydia decides, on her way up into the canyon treeline, that she just needs another glimpse to know Sky was truly real. And then she can go on peaceably in her quiet, simple life—entirely unchanged, save for the unshakeable knowledge she spent one night in the company of a gryphon. 

Her ankle begins to ache and drag the longer she hikes, slowing her progress, and halfway up the first canyon trail Lydia pauses to rest and take a drink. The sun isn’t particularly hot but she delves into some shade anyway, back to the forest as she keeps an eye on the empty path and paws around in her bag for a snack. There haven’t been any other hikers or rangers on patrol that she’s encountered and for that she’s been grateful, even if the canyon’s emptiness feels odd on such a beautiful day. Like she could be the only small person left in the whole world, wandering aimlessly in a wild place with too many hidden eyes. 

After a rest, Lydia shoulders her pack and readies herself to stand with the help of her walking stick. Her boots are planted firmly in nothing but hard-packed trail dirt, so the twig that cracks the moment she’s on her feet again echoes like a gunshot from somewhere in the thicket behind her. 

Most of what happens next bursts in the corner of her eye within half a second. She’s only half-turned, but the camouflaged beige form that had been crouching, unseen, near a tree not far from where she’s standing pounces and in two great bounding leaps is nearly upon her. 

The mountain lion already has its claws outstretched, hunter’s eyes set on Lydia’s jugular like it can already taste the blood beating there. In the time it takes a human to blink, there’s a clap of thunder and the mountain lion collides with something even bigger than itself mid-air. The thud of a body slamming into something immovable echoes like a blunt chop against old wood and then the big cat screams, falling back on all four feet to launch a new attack. 

Sky rears back with wings outstretched but doesn’t quite miss the swipe of the cougar’s claws. They roar, a terrible and inhuman sound, and then chase the mountain lion through the trees in a clash of foliage until the cat runs itself up a tree in fright. 

Lydia watches all this, walking stick brandished like a useless club in her hands, stunned into silence. Her legs won’t let her move for a few long beats, and then when she sees the forest guardian turn and slowly begin walking back she breaks into a hobbled run. 

“Are you hurt?” Sky asks, voice steely. The sunlight filtering through the treetops dapples on their coat and shines against the wine-dark red running down their foreleg. 

“No,” Lydia says, reaching out before she really knows what she’s doing. She draws her hand back, heart hammering, and looks down at where a drop of blood falls on the leaves between them. “You—you’re bleeding.” 

“I can’t do anything for it at the moment,” Sky says, eyes flashing. Woman and gryphon stare each other down, on level ground, the treed mountain lion momentarily forgotten. “Why did you come back here?” 

The truth wells up in her like a geyser, surging out before she can think to quell or stop it. It rises with the force of an echoing scream but all Lydia can do is whisper. “I wanted to see you again.” 

Sky blinks at that, though they don’t say anything to counter or question it. The branches of the tree where the mountain cat is perched rustle as it changes positions, letting out a piteous and angry sound, and the gryphon kneels down in a familiar bow with their injured leg held close. 

“We can’t stay out in the open,” they say. “Your ankle is still weak and the lion will have to come down eventually. I’d rather be quite a distance away when it does.” 

Trying and failing to swallow down her guilt, Lydia quickly but carefully pulls herself onto Sky’s back, curling her fingers in that familiar ruff of thick fur at their neck. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs when she lowers herself between their shoulder blades, but Sky is already beating their great wings with a powerful flourish and taking to the air.

The cavern on the side of the cliff is exactly like the snapshot in Lydia’s memory but somehow more magnificent in golden daylight, like a tapestry she’s finally stepped close enough to better examine all the singular threads bringing the larger picture to life. Despite the urgency of needing to help tend Sky’s wound and the suddenness of their meeting, the moment she steps back into the den a shroud of calmness slips over her.

“Let me see your leg,” Lydia says when she’s on her own two feet again, already reaching around for the pot of special salve and some of the first aid she’d brought this time. 

“I can tend it,” Sky mumbles, turning away to go deeper into the cavern, but Lydia presses a palm to their hip as they try to pass. 

“Please, Sky,” she says. “Let me see. It’s the least I can do.” 

The gryphon’s lungs blow out a billowing breath but they pause, turning to look at her with a certain light in their eyes. “Very well—your hands do finer work than mine.” 

Together they warm an old iron pot full of water by the fire and Lydia carefully daubs the congealed blood away until the wound is clean and refreshed. She doesn’t suppose it needs stitches, especially through such tough skin, but she carefully applies a generous amount of the ointment from the emerald jar Sky gave her and wraps their foreleg with a fresh bandage from her kit. It’s a neat job, and Sky seems pleased where they lay by the fire.

“How were your mushrooms?” they ask conversationally, as if they hadn’t parted ways with Lydia nearly eight weeks ago. 

“They were so good I had to come back for more,” Lydia teases, gently biting the tip of her tongue once she’s cleaned up their makeshift first aid. “The mountain lion was just a ruse.” 

“I see,” Sky says, dryly but in good enough humor. Neither of them seem to be able to mention the truth of Lydia’s words back in the forest yet, but the gryphon tips their head toward the human’s well-stocked backpack and sleeping bag. “You came more thoroughly prepared this time. How long did you plan to stay?” 

Lydia’s stomach surges up into her throat, tightening into a knot of uncertainty. She hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

“I don’t know,” she says, truthfully. “I—uh, didn’t expect to find you again so fast.” 

“Despite your knack for finding trouble, I’m doubly thankful that we keep running into each other,” Sky says, getting up to wander deeper into the cavern with a swish of their tail. “You can store some of your things here, if you wish. To keep the vermin away.” 

Lydia stands and goes back into this part of the den she hadn’t taken the time to examine so thoroughly before and finds more than she could’ve imagined. There are wooden crates full of brown bottles with cork stoppers and beeswax seals, old enough to have seen the start of the last century, and a battered steamer trunk with the long-forgotten initials of _EGD_ stamped on the side. Jars of raw honeycomb, dried mushrooms and herbs, strange little collections of stones and wildflowers and even what appears to be iridescent dragonfly wings. Books in various stages of age and disarray, three pairs of binoculars, rolled maps, a collection of lost horseshoes, and even what looks like pieces of airplane wreckage. 

“This is all yours?” Lydia asks, picking up a single satin ladies’ high heel shoe in a dusky blue color, fragile enough to be a true antique. 

“Things I’ve found in the woodland or been gifted through the years,” Sky says simply. “I’ve been here for a very long time.” 

Lydia marvels at everything, even the pelts and furs and antlers stacked neatly. She puts most of her things into an unassuming wooden crate with a lid and sets her sleeping bag off to the side, suddenly feeling silly. What had she expected, exactly, when she packed it? Maybe not the possibility of another overnight rendezvous with a winged mythical creature.

Sky, for their own part, seems mostly unbothered by the whole situation. They sit at the mouth of the cavern overlooking the canyon and crane their graceful neck around to groom the feathers close to their shoulders, slowly moving outward with long swipes of their tongue. Lydia watches, partway hypnotized, until Sky reaches up with a clawed talon and rips one long flight feather with a broken tip from their wing. 

It falls to the floor, forgotten, where it only stays for a few moments before Lydia goes to pick it up, examining the quill between her fingers. She sits on a flat rock nearby and twirls the feather between her fingers as she stares into the bold face of open wilderness below. 

“This is just surreal,” she says, eyes glazed over. “It’s so surreal I feel totally calm now. Like, everything just may as well happen, y’know? My whole reality has been upended as it is. I’m talking to a gryphon.” 

Sky tips their head to watch her for a long moment before going back to their grooming, this time licking the sleek fur on their hip. “You came here for something,” they say plainly. “Perhaps you don’t understand what it is, yet.” 

“Maybe,” Lydia says, struggling to even admit that much aloud. “You, uh...you don’t mind me being here? Just showing up out of the blue again.” 

“If I minded, you wouldn’t be here with me right now,” Sky says, finished with their grooming for the time being. “I already told you I enjoy your company, Lydia.” 

Lydia feels her face warm some at that, throat working in place. “Maybe I could stay for a few days, then,” she says softly, testing the waters as her heart clenches. “I don’t think anybody would miss me too much while I’m gone.”

“I’ll consider them at a loss, then,” Sky says, tail flicking idly while their eyes languidly sweep over Lydia’s face and form. The corner of their mouth at the hinge of their muzzle twitches, and Lydia swears it was a hint of a smile. “Fortunately for us, there are plenty of things to keep you comfortable and entertained while you’re here.” 

Lydia can’t help but smile back, feeling the lightest she’s felt in a long time. “I’m looking forward to it,” she says, and at that, she supposes, it’s settled.   
  
  


*   
  
  


The rest of the day passes in easy hours that slip through Lydia’s fingers like silverfish. She explores Sky’s collection and stores for a good chunk of the afternoon, intrigued by everything she finds, disgusted by some things and amazed by others. The old steamer trunk holds what looks like a hope chest full of linens and embroidery, all the white fabric and lace gone darker with age. There is a long cotton nightgown folded in one corner, perfect and pristine despite its age, so sheer and delicate that the light shines through it like gauze. 

By the time the sun begins to dip toward the western horizon, Lydia’s stomach is rumbling with hunger. She recalls the memory of Sky tearing into the leg of a mule deer and feels a little queasy at the thought. She’s not entirely vegetarian herself, per se, but suddenly red meat doesn’t sound like a choice item on her personal menu. 

Some soup and crackers from her small ration will have to do for tonight, at least, and Lydia fashions a makeshift grate above the fire to warm the soup can. She gets out a piece of paper and graphite and sketches Sky while she waits, making long strokes where their wings naturally curve and blend into dark-tipped feathers. 

“I’ve never been drawn before,” Sky says, fidgeting a bit where they’re lounging by the fire. “Not by a human, anyway.” 

Lydia snorts and looks up briefly to examine the shape of the gryphon’s rear paws. She’d forgotten already about the gnomes mentioned in casual passing. “Don’t tell me you’ve got Keebler Elves and Bigfoot running around out here, too.” 

“Perhaps by other names,” Sky says sagely, eyes lowered to the methodical movements of Lydia’s drawing hand. “The earth is home to much more than what the human eye would choose to see.” 

“That sounds....ominous,” Lydia says, a crease drawn between her brows. She stops drawing and sets the graphite down, derailed for the moment.

“Don’t worry,” Sky says in earnest. “They’ve been here much longer than any humans have. Some choose to remain hidden.” 

Now that night has fallen, Lydia sets her sketch aside for a different day and feels the chill when she steps away from the crackling fire. Her soup tastes only as good as tinned stew can—filling enough but wholly uninspiring. After supper Lydia wraps up her garbage for later and washes her face and hands with some warmed water, trying to gauge the time without having to look at her phone or wristwatch.

“We should rest,” Sky eventually says at length, slipping further back into the cavern to climb into the nest themself. They loosen their wings enough to roll and fluff a bit in the clean moss, and Lydia realizes that could be a part of the reason why Sky smells so good. It’s a charming sight—like watching a big chinchilla give itself an impromptu dust bath. 

Fetching her sleeping bag, Lydia tentatively climbs up into the warm nest herself, slightly more emboldened compared to the first time she was here. She settles down not too far from the gryphon and watches as they lean over to pull little tufts of soft fur from the undercoat on their belly, carefully tucking the fluff into any spots that may need more insulation. 

“Our class rabbit did that before she had babies,” Lydia says without much forethought, embarrassed as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Not that you...remind me of a rabbit, or anything.” She makes a frazzled motion with her hand. “Sorry.” 

Sky seems self-conscious enough to look up, perplexed, before promptly laying down. “Sometimes I don’t realize I’m doing it,” they say, tail flicking to and fro. “It can be—instinctual.” 

“Oh,” Lydia says, making a little show of fluffing her sleeping bag to avert her eyes. 

“Oh, indeed,” Sky says, sounding slightly flustered. They watch her from the corner of their vision for a beat and then, clearing their throat, raise a wing and beckon Lydia closer. “You should sleep here by me tonight. The elements aren’t particularly kind to those without undercoats and appropriate subdermal fat layers.” 

Lydia laughs, thankful for the reason to. “That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about my figure.” 

Sky looks bemused, and that somehow makes it all the more effortless to drag her sleeping bag over and tuck herself against the gryphon’s side. Being welcomed is relief enough in itself, but when that great wing folds down over her like a feathery shield, Lydia feels safe. 

She sleeps, perfectly serene and dreamless, without much of a care in the world. 

  
  


*** * * * *** **  
  
  
**

Morning, despite being a strange collision of the less-than-ideal realities of humanity and otherwise, seems to go over without much of a hitch. Lydia wakes, goes to do her business in a patch of weeds outside, and thanks any higher power listening that she had the foresight to bring a plastic baggie full of folded toilet tissue.

She has her breakfast and fixes her braid, splashes some clean water on her face and tidies up her belongings. The bandage on Sky’s leg unravels to reveal a pink-edged scab instead of an open gash, as if the wound had been healing for days instead of hours. It doesn’t make much logical sense, but then again, Lydia figures—not much about any of this does.

After a breakfast of what looks like a spring hare, Sky seems invigorated and prepared to face the day anew. The air is crisp and the cold wind outside bites harder than the afternoon before, and the gryphon parses through a wooden chest before coming back with an old hatchet and a fishing basket with aged leather straps.

“I’d like to go out and cut some lengths of timber to begin insulating the den for the season,” Sky says, passing the blade with its cowhide cover over to Lydia for safekeeping. “But before that, we can catch something for your supper.” 

“How do you do that?” Lydia asks, climbing up onto her usual spot on Sky’s back; funny, how it’s already starting to feel routine. “The insulation part, I mean.” 

“I have a number of pelts and skins we can put up to keep the cold at bay,” Sky says, waiting until their counterpart is secure. “I want to do my best to keep you warm and comfortable.” 

Lydia had felt wonderfully toasty next to Sky’s soft fur the night before, and even thinking of the plush warmth makes her smile in spite of the cold wind in her face. “I feel so spoiled,” she says, feeling a little bit giddy. The sensation only rises in her chest when the gryphon takes flight, swooping low off the face of the cliff and snapping their wings open as they sail further out above the wide canyon. 

They spend a good part of the morning by a rushing stream, Lydia warming herself on the rocks by the water while Sky wades into the shallow current. It’s not so unlike watching a grizzly catch salmon moving upstream, though Sky has the benefit of being able to swipe fish from the water with their talons instead of catching them in their jaws. 

The gryphon shines brilliantly in the open sunlight, the mix of deep grey and brighter silver on their coat gone lustrous and flashy. Despite being ankle-deep in the stream, Lydia can sense that Sky isn’t very fond of getting their body or wings wet. Their movements are methodical and particular, each strike into the water carefully planned and executed for minimal splashing. By the time the sun is halfway to its peak in the sky, the fishing basket is overflowing with hearty rainbow trout and Sky looks suspiciously chuffed with their haul.

“You’re just a regular pro at everything you do, huh?” Lydia teases as she fastens the lid on the basket with some difficulty. “Unshakeable. Rock fuckin’ steady.” 

“That’s not entirely true,” Sky says, still shaking river water from their hind paws, though they gaze at Lydia from the corner of their eye. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you use profanity in my company.” 

Lydia immediately flushes, wondering if she’s accidentally done something offensive in front of some ancient creature. “Oops,” she says, sheepishly. “That one must’ve slipped out.” 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Sky says, poised and thoughtful with their head held high for a moment. “You don’t have to hold your tongue around me, you know.” 

“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind,” Lydia says, pushing past the odd discomfort of discussing pedestrian things like this. Then an idea sparks across her mind. “Maybe I’d feel more comfortable about it if you joined in.” 

“ _Me?_ ” Sky says, and then lets out a barking sound almost like a laugh before lowering their voice again. “Maybe some other time, darling. I’ll have to keep you on your toes.” 

That makes Lydia shiver, though she’s far from cold. _Darling._ Her head is dizzy with the pet name, pleased and buzzed like a mellow high. She wants to act like the moment was immaterial and can’t wipe the stupid grin off her face. 

“Come along,” Sky says, apparently none the wiser, urging Lydia up onto her feet again. “We still have chores to do.” 

The rest of the afternoon passes in long shadows and distant bird calls, easygoing and without hurry. Lydia helps Sky chop a few young saplings for poles, happy the gryphon has the spare talons to carry them without much of a problem. In addition to their fish and lumber, they collect a bushel of wild persimmons, a handful of rosehips, and some sassafras root— _for drying and for tea_ , Sky says, even as they eat a peeled persimmon from the palm of Lydia’s hand. 

Back at the cavern, it takes a while to clean the fish, but Lydia enjoys working with the bone-handled knife she finds among Sky’s hoarded effects. Once the trout are cut into fillets she lays them out over the fire to roast with some flake salt, pleased with the notion of catching and cooking her own simple meal within the span of a few short hours. Working with your own two hands has always been gratifying, but lately Lydia’s beginning to enjoy it more than ever. 

The issue of insulating the nest and wider den seems like a task that may take more than just a day or two, but Sky nonetheless begins the process by wedging some of the poles into cracks in the rock and then weaves lengths of rope between them. The gryphon needs Lydia’s more nimble fingers to tighten and pull the knots, but by the time they’re finished for the evening a few pelts and a yellowed quilt from the steamer trunk have been draped and hung around the side of the nest closest to the cold draft. 

“Seems cozy,” Lydia says, running her palm over a deer skin and then a brown bear’s hide. Golden light from the fire is already playing their shadows upon the makeshift wall, and she watches as Sky’s shadow turns toward her again to speak.

“I have something more to show you,” the gryphon says, blinking those amber eyes mysteriously. “I think you’ll enjoy it after the long day we’ve had.” 

“I’m not very good with surprises,” Lydia says, though she follows close behind as Sky leads them further back into the cavern toward a place she’s never traveled, past stalactites and more figures painted on the sprawling walls. They round a corner and suddenly the deep shadow from before fades away into a strange blue glow that ripples along the rock.

“What—?” Lydia tries to say, but then Sky steps aside and she sees the deep pool of otherworldly aquamarine water, lit up somehow from within. Curls of steam rise off the surface of the spring in an otherwise cool room, and Lydia gasps aloud when she sees the veins of raw amethyst exposed in the walls. 

Sky walks down to the edge of the natural pool and dips a talon in, testing the temperature. “It’s not for drinking, but perfectly safe for washing and bathing,” they say, looking toward Lydia. “I thought you might be tempted by the heat.” 

“This place is beautiful,” Lydia says, eyes wide as she kneels down to touch the water for herself, mystified by the glow and the glitter of the purple crystals all around them. “I...I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

“I’ve kept it sacred for as long as I’ve been here,” Sky says quietly. “Yours are the first human eyes to lay on it in quite some time.” 

Lydia breathes out a sound of awe at the balmy heat of the spring, immediately thawing some of the bone-deep chill from the joints in her hands. “I didn’t pack a bathing suit,” she says, then immediately feels foolish for having said as much.

Sky rumbles out a content sound, looking her over. “You don’t need one,” they say. “There’s nobody else here to bother you, and I can give you some time alone—if you need it, of course.” 

Despite the beauty of the cavern’s room, Lydia doesn’t know if she’d feel comfortable here alone. “Stay, please,” she says, swallowing thickly. The water’s enticing warmth still lures her in, though, the rising steam beckoning her forward. “I feel better with you nearby.” 

“As you wish,” Sky says, walking over to a small peninsula that juts into the water before laying down with their wings folded neatly at their back. They face away, giving Lydia some semblance of privacy if she needs it to undress. As she contemplates the buttons on her coat and the dirty knees of her jeans, she wonders what reason she has to hesitate. Sky has never been anything but kind and respectful, and that knowledge finds Lydia stepping out of her garments one by one and leaving them folded at the edge of the spring. 

Her nipples harden in the cool air and gooseflesh crawls up her arms and thighs when she’s fully undressed. She looks down at her naked body and wonders, not for the first time, about desire. It’s been a long time since anybody saw her like this, a handful of years slipped by like smoke, and her body isn’t as tight and lithe as it was in her early 20s. Would Sky notice any of that, though? The subtle softness at her belly and the calves she hasn’t shaved in weeks. Would they even _care?_

Lydia pushes it from her mind and goes to sit at the edge of the water, slipping her feet and legs in the heated pool. The relief is instant, and she immediately lets the rest of her body follow suit until the soles of her feet touch the stone bottom. In the shallower part of the spring the water doesn’t fully cover her chest, and as she wades further out she can feel Sky watching her.

Instead of shying away, Lydia tugs on a tiny string of delicate impulse and turns to face the gryphon as she raises her arms to twist her braid up on top of her head. The water crests over the bottom of her breasts as she lets her arms fall again, and then moves through the pool closer to Sky. 

“You look like a sphinx,” Lydia murmurs, sliding through the water with ease. The fact that Sky first introduced themself as a guardian of the forest has nearly slipped her mind in full until this moment, seeing them lit up in the soft blue glow. “How long have you been here? In this forest.” 

“Before the white people came,” Sky answers, blinking sleepily at Lydia. “When the world here was still wild and unbroken.” 

They don’t sound bitter or upset, only somberly genuine in their assessment of things. Like a spirit resigned to some awful truth a long, long time ago. Lydia, for one, shall never truly know.

The gryphon lowers their head onto their front legs to watch her, nose twitching some as if catching a foreign scent. “You are lovely to watch like this,” Sky says, voice depthless and low again. “The water complements your movements and form.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Lydia says, wrinkling her nose up even as her stomach tightens. She moves closer, though, crossing her arms on the stone in front of Sky to face them, body still submerged in the heated pool. Their eyes lock and hold in a strange, electric way for only a narrow breadth of a moment, but Lydia feels the jolt of it move through her body like a wave. 

“You can’t come in with me?” she asks, holding out a hand. Sky blinks at her and shakes their head from side to side before lapping at the wetness in the heart of her palm.

“No,” they say, kindly. “My feathers wouldn’t find it very agreeable. I’m just glad to see you enjoy yourself.” 

Lydia doesn’t pull her hand away quickly enough and Sky’s soft tongue laves over her hand and up her wrist again. When it happens, the throb deep between her legs makes her whole body shudder in pleasure. Lydia hadn’t been expecting it, but her breath hitches and she slowly draws her hand back, fingers trembling a little bit. Her nipples are hard and there’s no mistaking that she’s suddenly aroused, almost painfully so.

“I—I’m going to swim a little,” she breathes out, moving away. Her head feels tilted on its axis and even in the bizarre confusion there’s still no shame or fear. She felt what she felt, and it wasn’t pressed upon her by anybody or anything but herself and her body’s natural response. 

Lydia tries to push the pleasant thrum between her thighs from her mind but the more she tries not to think about it, the more she wants to crush the heel of her hand against it to make the sweet ache flare brighter until it goes away. 

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Sky says, getting up abruptly without much preamble. “You’ll need something warm to dry off with and put on when you’re finished.” 

When the gryphon disappears back into the main cavern, Lydia blows out a wavering breath and sags some on her feet. She reaches beneath the surface and touches herself, humping shallowly into two fingers and not finding enough to satiate her desire. Part of her wants to slip beneath the warm water and never come back up, but the other part wants something—more. 

Maybe it’s a dangerously reckless move, maybe she’ll be rejected, maybe she’s finally gone and lost her mind, but she pulls herself from the pool and walks with purpose toward the way out, leaving wet footprints and dripping on the cold stone floor behind her.

In the cavern Sky looks up abruptly as they close the trunk, alert and surprised. They hold one of the old nightgowns and a torn section of linen in one talon but set it aside when they see Lydia standing near the nest, naked and shivering. 

“What’s wrong?” the gryphon asks, moving toward her with purpose. “Lydia.” 

“Sky, I—” Lydia stammers, struggling to find the right words for what she’s feeling. 

“Are you alright?” Sky asks, crowding up close to her, head inclined so their eyes are at the same level. “Calm down and tell me.” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Lydia insists, certainty unfurling through her like a blooming night flower. She holds up a hand, touching it to the soft fur on Sky’s muzzle, reverent and tender. Her hand shakes even as the gryphon’s head tips into her palm, letting themselves be held. 

“What do you need,” Sky rumbles, words humming through a deep purr in their chest. They seem to know the question already has its answer but don’t press any further, simply waiting until Lydia is able to speak again. 

“You,” she says, laughing a little brokenly. “If you’ll have me. If—we can.” 

Lydia stands there, fully exposed, shivering in the draft. Sky pulls their face away and drops their head to gently push against her chest and belly. The finer fur on their forehead and ears feels like velvet on her bare skin. 

“Go to the nest so you don’t freeze,” Sky murmurs, warm breath ghosting over Lydia’s hipbone. “I’ll be there in a moment.” 

And so Lydia goes, doubt rushing into her mind like floodwaters. It’s always been easy to contemplate everything she does wrong and none of what she’s done right, and here, now, is no exception. How could she have let a moment of vulnerability drive them apart? Sky must pity her more than anything, now. The fragility of human nature always brews its own losses in the end. 

But when Sky does return, stepping into the nest with the sheer cotton nightgown and another section of quilt, they move purposefully toward Lydia, eyes bright and vivid in the drape of warmth they’ve built together with furs and animal pelts. 

“You can put this on for now, if you wish,” the gryphon says, dropping the chemise into Lydia’s hands. “Just to keep the chill off your skin.” 

Gaze averted, Lydia pulls the old nightgown on and shivers again at the sensation of thin cotton. She reaches up to pull her braid free from the knot on top of her head, letting it fall down over one shoulder.

“Sky,” she starts to say, hoping the shameful burning behind her eyes doesn’t gather into tears. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You think you made a mistake in expressing your desire,” the gryphon says, gently cutting in over her. “You think I don’t reciprocate your feelings, nor your attraction, simply because I haven’t been forward with validating them up until this very moment.” 

Lydia’s mouth hangs open on a loose hinge, bottom lip trembling briefly before her jaw clicks shut. “Yes,” she whispers, still unable to meet Sky’s gaze. 

“Oh, darling,” Sky sighs, laying down at her feet and nuzzling into her stomach again. “You were wrong.” 

Lydia lets out a broken sound, arms coming up to embrace the gryphon’s face as she holds them close. Hot tears dampen the top of Sky’s head and ears as she pushes her fingers through the fur on their neck, though her breathing calms the longer she strokes them, the movements soothing.

“I had no idea you would have me as a lover,” Sky says, purring deeply again. They slowly withdraw and raise their face to sweetly lick some of the salty tear tracks from Lydia’s face. “I would love nothing more than to please you.” 

Lydia feels lightheaded, unsure of how to proceed even though her body sings for closeness, for unity, for a new embrace. “I’m here,” she says in humble offering. “I’m yours.” 

“Lie back for me,” Sky says, coaxing her to get comfortable in the nest. “I want to explore you.” 

Sprawled in the clean moss with a makeshift pillow behind her head, Lydia watches as Sky traces the sensitive tip of their nose up each leg and then, with deliberate slowness, pushes up the hem of the cotton shift until their breath is warm at the damp place between her legs.

Lydia sighs, a sound of wanting and relief, reaching up to pet the dappled silver on Sky’s forehead. Wordlessly, she parts her thighs and spreads her knees, letting herself open up for more.

“You smell exquisite,” Sky says, sounding intoxicated themself. “Divine. Enough that it’s hard...for me to resist…”

“You said you weren’t going to eat me, remember,” Lydia laughs weakly, suddenly wrought breathless. Her skin prickles with a mixture of arousal and fear, fight or flight response jambed to a standstill like a hare caught in the headlights. 

“Not in the way you think,” Sky rumbles, and then lowers their great head beneath her spread palm and laps over her delicate folds for a taste. 

Lydia jerks and then makes a sound she hadn’t meant to let out between a squeak and a moan. Sky’s soft muzzle pushes in further at the junction between her thighs, hot and velvet-soft, and licks her again, deeper this time so their tongue parts through her folds and slides over her soaked entrance and the nub of her clit. 

“Oh,” she gasps aloud, already flustered and feverish to the touch. The part of her mind that feels like this could or should be something wrong is drowned out by every cell in her body screaming for _more_. “S-Sky, do that again.” 

Sky’s tufted ears lay flat back against their head but a deep purr rumbles low in their throat, and oh God, she can feel it. 

“With pleasure,” Sky says, and Lydia watches as the slits of their pupils widen to dark orbs in those golden eyes. Then they delve back in for another taste, and Lydia’s mind turns into pleasant white static.

All the tension in her back and arms goes slack as she lets her upper body drop into the softness of the nest. It’d be a sinful sight to behold: Lydia’s legs spread wide, soft white gown pulled up over her quivering belly, chest heaving as she trembles and squeezes her eyes shut at the feeling of Sky’s tongue working inside the slick heat of her body. 

The gryphon laps over Lydia’s clit only a handful of times until she comes with a suddenness that hits between her eyes. Even as her hole flutters around nothing and her thighs clench there around Sky’s strong neck, their heated attention never falters. It becomes too much too quickly, and somehow Lydia still wants more. She aches with it, feeling empty, but can’t even find her voice or a coherent thought to ask for what she needs. 

“You’re ready to breed,” Sky says around a pleased growl as they finally pull back, gently licking some of the wetness from her inner thighs. “I find it remarkable that you’ve gradually gone into season since you’ve been here with me.” 

“W-what?” Lydia whispers, still shivering from the comedown after her orgasm, fingers mindlessly curled in the soft fur around Sky’s ears. “How do you know…? I don’t even keep track of things like that.” 

“I can scent it on you, the way your hormones signal the change,” Sky says, still purring as they rest their head there on her belly, tender and intimate. “Do humans not know when their heat happens? If I were to go into season here, another gryphon could smell me for miles.” 

Flustered and debauched, Lydia bars a forearm over her eyes and shakes her head. “ _No._ We can keep track with the days of the month on a calendar, but it’s not always foolproof. But nobody can ever—nobody _smells_ anything.” 

“What a shame,” Sky sighs, sounding genuinely sorrowful. They get up and climb further into the nest, coming to curl up beside Lydia once she’s closed her legs and loosely shimmied the nightgown back down. “I do miss it, sometimes. The courtship and the bonding. I haven’t had kits of my own in many years.” 

Lydia blinks at that, more in wonderment than any real confusion. She looks up at the gryphon’s wise and regal face, trying to read anything she can find there. “You’ve had babies before?” she asks, softer than she’d intended. 

“Yes,” Sky says, sounding vaguely saddened despite the fact. “Long before you were born. I had one litter of my own, all grown and many years gone now, but my mate, they...are no longer living.” 

“I’m sorry,” Lydia says, unsure of what to say or how to address the depth of a loss like that. She’s dated, but she’s never been remotely _bonded_ to anybody, and certainly never had any children. It’s odd to think about the similarities and differences that may mark the relationship between two human beings and two gryphons.

Or, she thinks with a jolting start—between a human and a gryphon.

“What was your mate’s name?” she asks, reaching out to touch the soft pad on Sky’s hindfoot, slightly roughened from roaming the forest. It must tickle because the gryphon twitches but doesn’t make any move to pull away. 

“Longfeather, in your native tongue,” Sky says. “When they passed there was no other to take their place. I could’ve traveled to find another mate, but I didn’t want to leave my home here.”

The gryphon lets out a low sigh, laying their head down between their talons close to Lydia’s face. “It hasn’t always been easy, being alone, but I’ve weathered it.” 

“I guess I know the feeling,” Lydia murmurs, reaching out to rub her fingers down the slope of Sky’s forehead and snout. She smiles a little sadly, smoothing a thumb over the top of the gryphon’s pink and grey nose, and feels like she needs to say more that won’t rise behind the tightness in the back of her throat. 

The comfort and safety she feels here is staggering to say the least. Like she doesn’t need to worry or be afraid of anything the world has to offer when Sky is nearby. 

“Would you stay?” Sky asks suddenly, nuzzling closer into her hair. “If I swore an oath to protect you, Lydia, would you live with me here for a time and be my beloved.” 

“What do you mean,” Lydia whispers, shivering as hot breath huffs softly against the sensitive skin at the side of her throat. “Do you mean forever, or…?” 

“Not if you don’t wish to,” Sky says, going quite still. “My reasoning is a multifaceted thing—I would have wanted to keep you as a mate regardless, but if you were willing…well. I had hoped, privately, for something more, but I suppose it would be entirely selfish to even ask.” 

Lydia swallows thickly and gradually finds her voice again. “Tell me,” she says, firmly. “Exactly what you mean.” 

“I wouldn’t ask you to stay forever,” Sky admits softly. “I couldn’t do that. But if you trusted me to protect you and provide whatever you needed, I would take care of you . And we could—try, to have a litter. If it would take.” 

A litter. Lydia’s mind spins into something that’s not quite freefall, focused only on one thing. If it would take. If. _If._

“I’ve never had any babies before, human or—or otherwise,” she sputters out. “I don’t know how it would work, Sky. Between us, considering what you are and...what I am.” 

Sky’s expression seems to fall, but they nod once and let their golden eyes slip shut in quiet acceptance. “I know it’s a lot to ask of you, and I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable,” they say. “That wasn’t my intention, so forgive me if I was too forward. Just you being here as you are has been more than enough.” 

Lydia draws in a deep breath, steeling herself and what little resolve she has left. She makes herself look up into Sky’s eyes, and despite how different they are from her own, she can see the compassion there—the restraint, and then the burning pull of deep yearning, spelled out there on the gryphon’s face. _They want this,_ she thinks to herself. _They want me to say yes._

It doesn't quite startle her as much as she thought when she realizes that she wants it, too. 

“I didn’t say no, y’know,” Lydia says, chest and face burning. “I just don’t understand how it...works. If we’d get our hopes up for nothing.” 

Sky studies her in silence for a long beat, pupils widening slowly again. “I’ve never been as drawn to any other creature in heat, as I’ve been drawn to you,” they admit. “I suppose it means our bodies might be...compatible.” 

Lydia shivers, and the muscles in her cunt clench hopelessly. It’s not a betrayal so much as a signal for what she wants, herself. But she needs to know what she’s getting herself into.

“Let me see,” she says shamelessly, reaching out to run her fingers along the side of Sky’s belly so the muscles in their side twitch. “I want to touch you, too.” 

The gryphon makes a low trilling noise but shifts in the nest so they’re lying more on their side like a lounging cat, legs strewn out. The movement seems casual, laid back, but exposes their underbelly enough to show off the furred sheath there between their hind legs. 

Lydia sits up, letting the cotton shift fall back over her chest and belly. She touches one of Sky’s knees lightly, still a little unsure, but a glance back at the gryphon grants her a slight nod.

“You can touch me however you wish,” they say, voice strained. “Anything.” 

When she prods at the sheath the end opens and exposes the tip of something pink and glistening. Sky blows out a tight breath, trembling a little, but doesn’t otherwise move or speak. Lydia passes a fingertip over the head of their cock and then it slips out a few more inches, thick and heavy but not quite as strange or otherworldly as she might’ve imagined. 

Hesitantly, Lydia wraps a hand around the weight of it and gently squeezes before running her fingers along the underside of the shaft. Sky’s belly seems to tighten and then unfurls, and with the tension there gone their cock slides out fully into Lydia’s hands. 

She’d be ashamed at the wetness already gathering between her thighs at the sight if this were any other time and place, but right now she can’t think of anything she wants more. Sky’s cock is marbled pink and black like their nose and the pads of their hind feet, a delightful and surprisingly precious detail. It’s probably a foot long, maybe more, and wide at the base but delicately thin and refined at the tip. 

“Turn over on your back,” Lydia whispers, wondering how much more there is to see. “Please.” 

Sky doesn’t hesitate, promptly turning around to expose the soft, brindled fur on their vulnerable underbelly. Lydia pushes her fingers through it soothingly, feeling the hidden nubs of little nipples, and then focuses her attention on the place beneath Sky’s tail, just as mottled with pink and black but altogether different from their cock. 

She traces the outside of the vulva but doesn’t press any fingers inside, simply touching. But the movement makes Sky’s cock harden, standing out stark against their belly the more Lydia’s fingers explore.

“Oh my,” they purr, lids sleepy and low. “That feels...yes, your hands. I do love your hands, Lydia.” 

It’s all more than a little overwhelming in too many ways for Lydia to count or express. Nothing and nobody leading up to this moment in her life has prepared her for this or what it might mean; she’s not even really sure it’s right, but deep down she knows what she wants. What she’d be willing to leave behind if it means getting to stay here with Sky. 

What she says, in the end, is _yes._

Hoping her actions speak louder than her words, Lydia sits back in the nest and settles on her knees before bowing low, pressing her forehead against the backs of her hands like a woman in prayer. She feels entirely exposed with her ass raised for the taking but the thrill of it is intoxicating, body thrumming with need and dizzy bursts of adrenaline. Sky is up on their feet again in an instant, warm breath ghosting over the wet slit between her legs. 

“Listen to me,” the gryphon says, voice held low in their throat like distant thunder. “If I breed you like this and it takes, it will be done. There’s no way for me to hold it back. Either you’re ready and willing to carry my kits or you aren’t.” 

“I want to try,” Lydia rasps out, already trembling again. She breathes in deeply to steady herself and feels calmer once she’s surrounded in the clean, comforting smell of Sky’s soft nest. “For you—for us. We can try.” 

Sky hums in pleasure, nuzzling against her bare hip before gently nipping there. “Then turn around, darling, so you can watch me fuck you,” they say. “You aren’t an animal.” 

Lydia lowers herself and turns around on her back again, gazing up at the gryphon looming above her. Sky feels so impossibly massive in this moment, huge, and she’s never felt smaller. But for all their intimidating size they’re still remarkably tender, dragging the old quilt over to her. 

“Under you,” they say. “It will help.” 

Muddled with lust, Lydia does as she’s told—tilting her hips up and keeping her thighs spread. The sight of Sky’s long cock hanging there, slick and ready, makes her stomach clench in anticipation. When the gryphon perches between her spread thighs and braces their forelegs on either side of her head, she doesn’t know how this might work, but she prays with everything in her that it does. 

Wordlessly, Lydia raises her legs and hooks her calves over the junction between Sky’s hip and torso in the crook of their thigh. It brings them closer together into a tighter fit, and the movement has the tip of their cock resting against the low part of her belly, burning like a brand. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Sky murmurs, voice wound tightly but still reassuring. They bow low again and nuzzle the side of Lydia’s face, staying there until her right hand comes up to press into the soft fur there. “Tell me if you have any pain.” 

“I will,” Lydia chokes out, reaching down with her other hand to take the end of Sky’s cock, sliding the tip down through her slickness until it nudges against the outside of her entrance. “Please, Sky. Oh God, I want to feel you.” 

And then, after letting the pink head slide in, the gryphon shifts their weight and Lydia suddenly goes from empty to maddeningly, shockingly full. The stretch spears her wide and she moans, but the sweet slide doesn’t stop, never-ending as Sky continues to sink in and sheath themself inside her. 

“You divine creature,” the gryphon growls, lowering their body further until soft fur tickles Lydia’s bared belly, and then they begin to move inside her. “Beautiful, perfectly made to take my cock.”

Lydia has never made love like this before with a human partner. And it would feel wrong to say it aloud, to acknowledge that being fucked by this otherworldly creature is somehow an intimate act made sacred, holy in a way—but that’s how it feels. That’s exactly what’s happening. 

Sky is above her, beneath her, all around her, muscles shaking with restraint as they pump their heavy cock into her so that the movement doesn’t hurt or tear. The gryphon’s braced forelegs hold strong, though, and they lean over to lap delightfully at one of her nipples peeking through the neck of the rumpled shift, soft tongue and nose roving over her chest and sternum in a tender exploration of freckled skin. 

Lydia moans long and low, hitches her legs higher up into the grooves of Sky’s hips and tries to pull herself flush to them. Sky’s long cock sinks another delightful inch deeper and then hits the barrier there, nudging into that little divot at the mouth of what must be her cervix. It’s an odd sensation, made short-lived by a sudden gush of something delightfully warm that floods into her in tiny little spurts.

“Nearly there, now,” Sky soothes, still pumping their cock in and out with the wet sound of raw sex. “You have to let me in.” 

“Oh s-shit,” Lydia hisses, squirming as tears gather at the corners of her eyes. Nobody and nothing has ever been this deep inside her before, but the potential for more feels inevitable. “ _Sky_.”

The balmy, molten heat of their leaking precum makes her tingle all over, though, and each kiss from Sky’s cockhead doesn’t cause any discomfort beyond a dull pressure that slowly builds into rising pleasure. A knot of aching emptiness swells behind Lydia’s navel and she feels like it may not ever be filled. She’s never chased any other sensation like this and yet she wants Sky deeper, sheathed inside her to the impossible hilt, locked there in her core.

“Do it,” she rasps, clutching at the thicker fur on the gryphon’s chest. She can feel Sky’s heart beating under her palm, flapping like the wings of some frantic bird. “S-Sky, I need you to do it.” 

“It will be done,” Sky growls, like an incantation spoken between them, and suddenly Lydia feels the bright pinch and _pop_ deep in the well of her belly, and then she’s utterly filled, speared down to the depths of her womb.

She cries out, openly weeping now, body spasming around Sky’s cock so tightly that their hind legs buckle and bow. The gryphon makes a wounded sound and ruts up into her again, shoving past the softened barrier, until the wide base of their cock is stretching Lydia around a swelling knot. 

When Sky comes the feeling of it jolts Lydia like a physical force of nature. Spasm after spasm of hot spend fills her in spurts and has nowhere to go but in the empty vessel inside her, filling her utterly until her abdomen is full and pliant to the touch. Sky’s cock twitches and swells until it’s locked inside her, unable to pull out now if they even tried. 

Panting now, the gryphon shakes out their wings and spreads them from one side of the nest to the other, letting their body cool as they slowly come down. Lydia’s hips drop back into the soft bedding but all she can do is lay there, still so beautifully impaled and pinned under her lover’s body. 

Sky noses into the soft place under her chin, licking gently as they nuzzle at the dampness of sweat and tears. “Shh, darling,” they say, voice warm with affection. “Rest here with me until it passes. You’ve done so well.”

When she opens her eyes, Lydia thinks she might see the edge of the universe wheeling there beyond the crest of Sky’s left wing. A calmness and sense of quiet knowing washes over her, serene and whole, and she knows even now that she’s been bred. The sense of utter fullness washes away every worry, every concern, every pang of loneliness she’s felt in years. 

Her ruined cunt weakly clenches around Sky and they grunt in surprise, shifting inside her. Lydia feels it when the knot shrinks back down, and then when the delicate tip of Sky’s marbled cock pulls back through the opening in her cervix. There’s that gentle _pop_ again, and then her womb is sealed, body wilting at the aching emptiness as Sky pulls out and lets a sticky wash of fluid run between Lydia’s thighs in their wake. 

Not a moment or drop is wasted, and as she lays there in a partial daze the gryphon lowers their head between her legs and cleans her tender skin with the kind of reverence that brings new tears back to her eyes. And then, minutes later, Lydia crests over the edge again—trembling and overstimulated, grinding down against the flat curl of muscle pressing gently up into the open part of her. 

She’s too exhausted to even speak, fucked out on the kind of sore, aching bliss most people only ever dream of. Sky leaves the nest for a few moments and then comes back with something in their mouth, laying down a coil of cord and a piece of faceted stone on Lydia’s belly. She presses a hand over it and feels something thrum inside her, an echo of things yet to come. 

“What is it?” she whispers, letting herself get tucked in before the gryphon curls themself around her protectively, muzzle resting over her shoulder. 

“A piece of this place for you to keep,” Sky says, and sure enough, Lydia looks closer and sees the purplish shine of raw amethyst, sparkling like the walls in the spring room. She slips it over her head and lets the stone warm there where it rests against her sternum like a tiny chakra. 

“I don’t want to leave,” she whispers, just to hear herself say it aloud. Just to make it seem real.

“Then don’t,” Sky says, purring in a comforting rumble against Lydia’s side as they nibble affectionately around her temple. “My darling, you never had to.”

And maybe, Lydia silently muses, the choice to claim her own future is really that simple.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> includes: wet n’ messy breeding stuff, pregnant sex, excess bodily fluids, natural birth (not traumatic), chest feeding, supportive & invested creature partner, gross displays of love and tenderness, and super cheesy but magical names for all gryphons involved :)

  
  
By the time dawn breaks on the horizon, Lydia finds herself bent like a supplicant on her hands and knees, this time welcoming Sky to take her from behind. The gryphon is more than eager to mount and claim their mate a second, third, fourth time. It goes on like that for what must be half a day, maybe longer—the two of them hidden away in the nest, only pausing their coupling to eat and sleep and take brief dips in the soothing waters of the spring. 

There’s something unnatural in the hot pre-ejaculate that pearls at the tip of Sky’s cock, and though Lydia’s beginning to understand that it softens the opening to her womb, she thinks the milky liquid might be an aphrodisiac of some kind. It makes her blood and body feel aflame, insatiable, obsessed with taking that knot to the root when it seems her hole couldn’t physically withstand another inch more. The sensation is an intoxicating release of control and burning hunger to reclaim it all at the same time. 

Sky is happy to perform and please, pumping her full more times than either of them can seem to count. Most of the semen pools between Lydia’s thighs or is washed away, but there’s still enough inside her that she can feel the peculiar heaviness of it gently ballooning in the well of her abdomen. Almost like a mild menstrual cramp, though this feels far more satisfying than the tedious ritual of bleeding every month. 

By the cusp of nightfall, when Lydia’s hips ache and the place between her thighs feels bruised and tender to the touch, Sky raises their head and scents the air, ears and nostrils twitching with sudden interest. They sniff her intently, nose skimming from her clavicle down to her belly, light enough to tickle and raise goosebumps on the bare skin. 

“You’ve taken,” Sky says, voice threaded through with pride and awe. The gryphon nuzzles her stomach with all their usual affection but an added sort of reverence, plain and beautiful to behold. “I never dreamed this day would come again.” 

And through the slightly uncanny veil of disbelief, maybe Lydia cries into Sky’s fur because she’s as happy as she is amazed, fucked out and exhausted and brimming with emotions she doesn’t fully understand. It’s still far too soon to feel safe in this newfound knowledge, only just the barest beginning, but she hopes she can protect and carry the life that’ll eventually grow inside her. She hopes she’s strong enough to bring it into the light. 

“How long?” she asks Sky, realizing again that this isn’t a human child they’re talking about. “Until they’re born.” 

“They should be small, not much bigger than marsh rabbits,” Sky rumbles, still busy grooming and lavishing attention on their chosen mate. “Half a year from now you will be a mother.” 

Six months, then. Lydia tries to think of how much her life has already changed in a matter of weeks, days, hours, the past ten minutes. In six more months it’ll be altered completely, if everything goes according to plan. She didn’t hike into this canyon expecting to be a mother by the following spring, but now she has to prepare for a whole new era at the helm. 

Lydia thinks, briefly, of her parents and whether she should be ashamed. But they’re no longer here, and their judgement doesn’t matter—nobody's does. This was a choice she made for herself and her own life. And no one can take that away. 

“I’ll have to get ready,” she tells Sky, still pushing her fingers through their fur as she slowly drifts toward sleep, eyes slipping shut. “Need...things. Things you can’t find in a gryphon’s bottomless trunk of magic tricks.” 

“Like what?” Sky asks, amused but contentedly purring all the same. “I can get whatever you may need, you know.” 

“Do the gnomes make neonatal vitamins?” Lydia asks, brow slightly furrowing despite the smile threatening on her face. She can feel Sky staring at her despite her closed eyes and bites the tip of her tongue. It’s so strange and good to feel...safe, and content. 

“Maybe there are some provisions you’ll need to gather,” Sky concedes after a few long moments, laying their head down and letting out a pleased huff. “I will do the rest. Anything within my power.” 

Lydia nods, knowing the gryphon’s intent is earnest, though the overall execution may be a little tricky. She already knows she’ll need to leave the den and go back home to cherry-pick things from civilization and prepare herself over the course of the next six months. It’s a difficult thing to reconcile, balancing two lives when you don’t want to leave a place or a lover—but for now, it has to be done.

And ultimately, will Lydia keep her condo, her jeep, her 401K, her record collection, the urns with her parents’ ashes in them—? Maybe it’s too soon to say. Certainly too soon to think about in a time and place like this one. 

“There may be times where I need to come and go,” she tells Sky anyway, because she refuses to let it weigh too long like a worry stone in her mind. “But I want to be here with you whenever I can, and I know I’ll be here when the babies....if, the babies come.” 

Sky nods, drowsy with the pull of sleep themself. “They will come,” the gryphon says, drawing in an easy breath and letting it back out again. “I can already feel it in the bones of this place, in the promise of the forest’s very marrow. The trees and the river knew this would come to pass long before you or I did.” 

Lydia’s skin prickles, hearing Sky speak that way. “Are they—alive?” she whispers, hand gone down to cup over the flat plane of her belly. “Can you feel them?” 

“Can you not?” Sky asks, gone quite still. “Listen.” 

Though they’re high up on the far side of the canyon wall above the forest’s sprawl, hidden away in a rocky cavern and bedded down in a soft nest, Lydia quiets her mind and listens. For a long while, there is nothing but the sound of her and Sky’s breathing. And then, the longer she embraces the true silence, the more she feels the low, soothing hum of something she’s never heard before.

It seems to come from the very essence of everything around them, from the rocks and the spring and the dust motes in the air, the treetops and roots far below, then the vibrating atoms comprising it all—slowly shaping itself into a steady rhythm until Lydia swears she can almost sense the _thump, thump, thump_ of an endless heartbeat, echoing there beneath the spread of her palm.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  
  
  


Lydia decides to return home the following Monday morning. When they’re back on the ground within walking distance of the campsite’s parking, she reaches up and wraps her arms around Sky’s neck, hoping they can feel everything she isn’t very good at saying aloud. 

“I’ll be back here in a few days,” she promises, trying to swallow against the knot of emotion in her throat she hadn’t expected to feel. “It’s hard being—a person, in society.” She laughs, hollowly, and feels Sky curve over her shoulder like they’re holding her closer. 

“You can make whatever choices you need to, darling,” the gryphon says, though Lydia notices they’re hesitant to step back, even when they both hear the voices of young children carrying in the distance. “I’ll be here for you whenever you need me. You know where to look.” 

“Thank you for trusting me,” Lydia whispers into Sky’s fur before slowly stepping back. It’s not lost on her, the meaning and significance of what she’s carrying. Sky has no other kin anywhere nearby and neither does she, but humans are far-removed from the threat of being blotted out; what’s nestled deep inside Lydia, however, is part of a dying breed, something magical and ancient and worth protecting for more than just her own sake. 

“Be careful,” Sky says in parting, only lingering long enough to watch Lydia walk back to the trail. She feels the rush of wind even from a distance when their wings take to the air again, and one of the children shouts something excited and incomprehensible, closer now than they were before. Lydia smiles at them and their weary parents when she walks around the bend in the path, listening to the child babble something about a flying monster clearly unseen by anybody else, carrying more secrets than they could ever know. 

When she’s back within the city’s outer limits, Lydia stops at the pharmacy and buys a pregnancy test kit. She doesn’t know really if it’s worth trying, given these unnatural circumstances, but the need to satiate her curiosity burns brighter than anything resembling logic. After a hot shower she opens the box and follows the directions, and to her surprise, the little blue line shows up exactly as promised—only forty-eight hours after what might’ve been conception. 

The quiet emptiness of the condo she’s called home for several years is strange compared to the quietude in Sky’s den. Lydia lays in bed after daubing some of the cool healing salve between her thighs, staring at the ceiling and wondering many things. She tries not to let her mind race, but the solitude and meditative silence here doesn’t let her tap into the natural breathing of the wider forest, only the clustered web of fear and anxiety living in her own mind. 

Almost as an afterthought, Lydia’s hand reaches up to touch the amethyst pendant still hanging around her neck. She’s done this countless times since Sky first gave it to her, but she holds it in the heart of her palm now, squeezing it until the stone begins to warm and match her body heat. The sense of calm that washes over her isn’t swift but definitely noticeable, like being slowly submerged in the blue glow of the spring from many miles away. 

It helps, even if Lydia knows she’s at the mere beginning of the journey that stretches ahead. She misses Sky and feels oddly bereft, wishing they could be here with her against all odds, too. The idea of leaving this all behind is tempting at moments and terrifying in others, but there’s far too much work to done before she makes that choice. 

Lydia squeezes the pendant one more time and lets it fall back under her shirt. Comforted for now, she focuses on the week ahead and what needs to get done. She’ll be back with Sky in their nest soon enough.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The babies grow fast. 

Two weeks pass, and then another two, and by the middle of the fifth Lydia can feel the unmistakable pooch swelling under her navel. No longer the pliant squishiness of being pumped full like the day she was bred, but a heavier firmness she can curve a hand over. Sky lavishes attention over the new bump, growling appreciatively and protectively when they spend long nights together in the den. 

It’s getting colder than ever in the canyon and soon winter will douse the rocks and trees in powdery white. Sky’s coat seems to shift with the impending season, fur gradually lightening to white dapples in places to blend in more with the promise of snowy terrain. Autumn is on its last leg and they spend their days gathering firewood and things to put away for the winter, padding Lydia’s basket with mushrooms and nuts and roots dug up out of the earth. 

She drinks a special tea brew in the evenings after their supper, and then from there has nothing more to do but listen to Sky’s stories of an older world or lay back and let herself be taken apart. Lydia’s body has adjusted more the longer they've been coupled together, and even as her belly grows and her figure subtly changes Sky is still as attentive and indulgent as ever.

The only difference pregnancy has brought is that Sky’s cock and knot can no longer fit all the way inside her now that her womb is full. The sex is still incredible, better than Lydia could’ve ever hoped the bigger and heavier she gets, but something in her hindbrain itches with the primal need for more. She hasn’t even gone through her first pregnancy and already she daydreams about the prospect of being bred a second and third time, much to her own disbelief. But the memory of Sky’s beautiful cock that deep inside her makes her tingle and yearn down to the tips of her fingers and toes, like a hunger burgeoning on the cellular level. 

On her back in their nest, thighs pushed apart and getting rutted into until she cries, it’s easy to imagine that this is something worth wanting for as long as she can have it. Lydia sees untold moments and stories in Sky’s feathers and the gold of their irises, things that swirl together into images when she closes her eyes and looks into the darkness there: her life spelled out in the seasons from this point onward, hiking and flourishing in the summer months, getting bred in early autumn, wintering with Sky as they prepare for a new brood, and welcoming her babies in the spring thaw. 

And then the beauty of doing it all again, and again, and again—for as long as she wants, or for as long as the gryphon would have her. 

For their own part, Sky demands nothing and makes no lofty plans. They are perfectly content to live in the moment and spend their time with Lydia as it unfolds in the gift of the present, experiencing life as a ripened fruit of endless possibility. Their affection and patience seems as enduring as the cycle of time itself, and for that Lydia is thankful. Being in Sky’s company is like being pulled into the gravitational orbit of a planet that moves just a little more slowly and steadily than the earth, where it’s easy to give herself over to simple mindfulness. There is only here, now, her partner, her growing babies. Nothing more, nothing less.

Indeed, Sky is busy lapping between Lydia’s folds with their soft tongue with the slow intent to make her mewl for more when they feel the kits move for the first time. 

They’re almost at the halfway point now, and though Lydia’s belly grows rounder every day, she’s been worried about the lack of motion. Naturally, it’s not until she’s got her lover’s tongue four inches deep into her cunt that something jerks in the swell of her belly, not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to wring her a little breathless. 

“Oh—Jesus!” she gasps, still seeing stars as she wraps a hand around Sky’s ear and gently tugs to no avail. “Sky, Sky, I can _feel_ —”

Sky, always the pleaser, takes that as a cue to go deeper, give even more, and Lydia’s thighs clench and she bites back a broken scream when their marbled tongue plunges deep enough to tease the tiny nodule of nerves around her cervix. It’s like being plundered by fire, rolling through her in waves until she’s shaking from the force of it, hole clenching around a length of something that can’t be milked for more.

And then Sky’s regal head is rising from between her thighs, looking quite pleased with themself. When they lick their chops it’s no so unlike watching a cat who got a warmed saucer of cream, and Lydia has to catch her breath before she can direct the gryphon to her belly.

“The babies,” she croaks, guiding Sky’s nose to her abdomen. “Feel.” 

There’s no movement for a long beat, and then something shifts closer to Lydia’s rib cage and thumps for half a second, like the tiny kick of a hind foot. Sky makes a pleased sound and lays their face over Lydia’s body, purring low in their throat so the vibration works its way through her skin and muscle into the tiny forms growing inside. 

“They’re strong,” Sky says, eyes narrowed into content slits. “A good sign.” 

“How many do you think there are?” Lydia wonders aloud, not really expecting an answer. She’s tried and failed to guess and knows there’s no way of telling without getting an ultrasound, but that certainly wasn’t a trip she was planning on taking to the obstetrician’s office anytime soon. 

Sky ruminates on that, still purring like a motor while they decide. “Two, maybe three since this is your first litter,” they say. “Four is possible, but rare.” 

There’s so much Lydia wants to know, and so much she can’t ask anybody in her day-to-day life outside the canyon. Even looking up these things in medical textbooks and online seems borderline impossible, if not insane. Other than Leda and her swan, it’s not every day a mortal woman carries the offspring of some winged beast. 

“Can you tell me about your other babies,” she asks, almost shyly. “How many were there? And how you handled...all this.” 

Sky’s amber eyes narrow into slits, heavy-lidded and comfortable. “There were three,” they say, blowing out an easy sigh. “I was afraid, of course, that being my first breeding season. But Longfeather eased my nerves and helped me along every step of the way. It’s what mates should do for each other.” 

Lydia nods, stroking along the softest fur on Sky’s forehead. “I know you were strong enough to have done it on your own, though.”

“Maybe, but perhaps not,” Sky says. “My first kit was the biggest and I labored for a long time. There was a late blizzard that year, and my mate got stuck in the storm. I didn’t know if they’d make it back in time.” 

“What happened?” Lydia asks, feeling some phantom string of dread rise in her chest at the thought. 

Sky’s ears twitch, cracking open one eye again to focus on her. “Longfeather returned through the blizzard and helped me find my breathing and strength until the baby came,” they say simply. “But I don’t plan on leaving your side anytime close to when you’re ready to whelp. I wouldn’t dream of you doing it alone.” 

Lydia believes Sky, down to her core. But that pinch of uncertainty is still there simmering just under the surface. 

“What did you name your—your kits?” she asks, trying to think of happier things instead. The thought of the little beings inside her needing names for their own newborn spirits makes her smile enough that her face hurts, and that helps chase some of the worry away. 

“It takes some time to get to know them,” Sky admits, gently ruffling their wings in a shrug-like way. “We had Riversong, Ashwing, and Crowhop.”

“Crowhop,” Lydia echoes, trying not to giggle. Her heart thumps with sudden warmth, brimming over into joy. “I love it.” 

“Gryphons are given two names,” Sky clarifies, eyeballing her knowingly with a certain tilt to their mouth. “One you would understand and the other in a language humans wouldn’t know. The names you would know, like _Skylark_ , are always the more affectionate of the two. Crowhop was born into this world with a mangled claw that healed with time and care, but their name stuck as it was.” 

Lydia nods, trying to imagine what their babies may be like before sending up what feels like the thousandth prayer for their safe delivery into this world. “Could I help you with their second names?” she asks. “Once we get to know them.” 

“Of course,” Sky rumbles, sounding surprised at her question. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

They settle in for the night and tell Lydia tales of the three young gryphons from a time when the canyon was much younger and the earth hadn’t been trodden by wheels or machines. She listens until she can barely keep her eyes open, hanging on every word, and pushes her fingers through Sky’s fur until the first snowflakes begin to fall outside and herald in winter’s awaited arrival.  
  
  
  


* * * * *  
  


Lydia takes her prenatal vitamins, cuts down on caffeine, eats her daily servings of vegetables and lean proteins, and has long since quit sneaking cigs from the crumpled pack she’d been hoarding for months in the jeep’s glovebox before she fell pregnant. Her hiking days are over for the time being but she does yoga every morning in a baggy shirt and cotton shorts, rounded belly hanging toward the floor as she leans over into downward dog. It helps her lower back and hips, but the medicinal salve Sky gave her helps the ache even more.

Soon she’ll be leaving and disembarking for her longest trip into the canyon yet. The six-month mark is only five days away and she may be cutting it close, but Lydia feels like she knows her body enough to sense when things are about to get underway. The babies haven’t shifted position just yet, at least as far as she can tell—and when they do, she’ll be the first one to know. She still isn’t sure how many to expect, but the way they’ve wrestled and snuggled and wrapped around each other is cause enough to suspect at least three. 

Her work contacts have been notified of a leave of absence and any remaining projects have been finished and sent their respective ways. The condo has been paid off for years, a side effect of her parents’ generous inheritance money, but a neighbor will still bring the mail in a few times each week and check on things while Lydia’s absent—on a lengthy sabbatical with her long-distance partner while they welcome the new baby, she tells them.

At least it's partially true. 

In lieu of seeing an actual doctor, Lydia’s done her own countless hours of research on midwifery and home birth. It doesn’t seem so entirely complicated; that is, until something goes horribly, terribly wrong, and then everybody involved goes to hell in a handbasket. But Lydia puts that from her mind and does her best to pack things she may need that Sky doesn’t have on hand like dressings, sterile sutures and a needle, a pair of clamps if they need to tie off a baby’s umbilical cord. The most important of all, she supposes, are the small receiving blankets she’s made using scraps from the quilted blanket that used to be on her childhood bed. Her throat tightens when she looks at them, fingering the edges that she’s lined with the softest fleece flannel. 

There hasn’t been any baby shower, or diaper genies, or sonogram appointments. Lydia hasn’t _missed_ it, exactly, but she’s certainly felt...more than a little isolated, maybe. Other than Sky, she’s weathered the knowledge of what’s to come entirely alone. Part of her prefers it that way, but the other part recognizes fear in the face of the unknown. 

The night before she locks up the condo and heads for the canyon, she writes out a letter just in case and leaves it under an empty mug in the kitchen. Somebody would find it eventually, if they needed to, whether that was her neighbor or the police come to look for answers or a body. As far as those people would need to be concerned, Lydia simply disappeared into the forest with the intent to not come back. It’s all right there in her handwriting. 

On the morning of her departure, Lydia locks up and leaves some cash on the counter for her neighbor. She tries not to feel afraid, though her hands tremble a little as she puts her bag into a taxi and watches civilization slowly give way to the beginnings of wilderness as they head in the direction of the canyon. The driver agrees to drop her off at a rundown motel on the outskirts of town, albeit hesitantly, but Lydia acts cool and collected behind her sunglasses and thanks him for his time. If he’s the last person to see her alive, she hopes the knowledge won’t ever have to weigh on him.

The walk from that point is a little more difficult than she’d planned, even if the sun is rising quickly. Snow has drifted up into banks on the shoulders and Lydia, six months pregnant and carrying her backpack, hikes three miles up the winding two-lane road without encountering another soul. The minute she gets within the realm of Sky’s territory, she sags in relief on her feet and sits down with her back against the wide trunk of a redwood, hoping the ancient giant will hold sentry for the time being while she rests. 

Not long after that, there’s the telltale flap of wings and a shadow casting across the snow-dusted ground from overhead. Sky always knows where to find her when they’re close enough in the woodland, drawn right to Lydia like a living, breathing beacon. 

The kits have been active more than ever the past few days, and all their wriggling and shifting has been more exhausting to endure than the trek up here was. Lydia opens her arms and welcomes Sky’s head against her chest, embracing them in a silent greeting. It feels good to simply rest like that for a moment, comforted by the warm puff of the gryphon’s breathing, and within a minute or two Lydia’s nearly forgotten the weight of any fear that has crossed her mind over the past six months. 

Suddenly, she knows she feels ready for whatever comes next. Readier than she’s ever been for anything. 

“Come on, darling,” Sky says, low and easy just like always. The surrounding forest is cold but Lydia doesn’t feel any of it. “I’ll take care of you from here.” 

And they do, just like they promised to.   
  


  
  
  


  
The first night comes and goes, and then the second and third and fourth without fanfare. Lydia waits for any sign of a change, any shift in her body or the way she feels to no real avail. She does feel unbearably heavy around the middle, and the extra weight makes it hard to sleep at times, but she knows that discomfort is par for the course with any pregnancy. 

With Sky lounging nearby, she spends hours at a time in the steamy spring waters, doing light exercises to try and keep her blood and body moving. Even treading water and swimming from one side of the glowing pool to the other in laps doesn’t encourage the kits to make their debut, and once she fully passes the half-year mark at the end of day six Lydia begins to give in to weary restlessness. 

“I can’t take this anymore,” she tells Sky that evening when they’re tucked in the nest together, even if the mere act of doing so feels melodramatic. It’s not quite storming outside the den, but the wind is heavy and whistles across the mouth of the canyon from time to time. “These children of yours have got to come out—mama’s had enough and it’s time to abandon ship.” 

“Kits of _mine?_ ” Sky says, huffing out an amused sound. “The last I recall, they’re as much yours as they are mine. You did beg, after all, for me to breed you full of—”

“I know what I said!” Lydia moans miserably as one of the babies kicks inside her. “They have four legs like you, so I’m holding you doubly responsible.” 

“Hmm,” Sky purrs, giving Lydia a long, slow onceover before moving to nudge the hem of the cotton shift she’s worn to bed. “I know something that may help things along.” 

Lydia’s brow furrows, momentarily confused, until her eyes raise to meet the gryphon’s golden stare. She blinks, and suddenly the clarity washes over her like a falling drape of cool silk. 

“Are you quite ready?” Sky asks again, gentle and encouraging despite the undercurrent of throatiness in their voice. “Once your body opens, the kits will respond in kind. After they decide to come into the light there won’t be any way for either of us to stop it.” 

“I know,” Lydia rasps, trying to laugh. “I wasn’t planning on stuffing them back in for a refund.” 

Sky doesn’t say anything, simply watching and waiting for a real answer. 

“I’m ready,” Lydia says, voice shaking just a little around the edges even if her decision is firm. “I’ve _been_ ready. I...want to meet them.” 

The gryphon’s purring deepens as they rise to their feet, looming there above Lydia with all their warm bulk. The way the firelight catches in the whitened tips of each hair on Sky’s coat makes them glow like something that fell from heaven, and when they shake out their wings and lower themself over her it’s enough to make her breath catch. 

“Do you need my tongue first?” Sky asks, bowing their head to nuzzle against Lydia’s throat. Her belly is big enough that it’s wedged there between them, as round and taut as a beach ball. 

“No,” she whispers, already feeling the wetness gather between her legs, like her body was ready before her mind caught up. “Just—this.” 

Lydia gathers up some of the blankets in the nest and pads under her hips, already aching down deep for what Sky’s ready to give her. The balmy heat of their precum had stopped working throughout her pregnancy, obviously not having any ill effect on the babies, and she wonders how and why it may suddenly work, now. Maybe Sky’s had control of it all along, or maybe this is how their bodies have both adapted. 

In either case, she hopes it works. 

Sky has always been a considerate and gentle lover in all their months together, careful with their size and weight in comparison to Lydia’s smaller human frame, but tonight reminds her of their first time together. The powerful restraint, the tautness drawn like a bowstring from the top of Sky’s head to the tip of their tail—it’s charming, and arousing, and her heart thumps with a number of things too big to name. The wind screams outside but Lydia doesn’t hear it, caught there in the resounding comfort of Sky’s warmth and rhythm as they rock into her and slowly, slowly sink into the depths of her body until their cockhead kisses the entrance of her womb.

The familiar pinch of syrupy heat brightens, blooms, and makes her insides buzz with that divine dizzying sensation. Lydia hitches her legs up into the junction between Sky’s thighs and sides, as much as she can this far along, and lets her lover keep fucking into her until she feels something gently pop low in her abdomen. 

At first she thinks Sky’s breached her cervix, and the accompanying worry is immediate—except Sky’s already drawing back despite the instinctive tightening of her cunt, and a rush of clear fluid comes out all at once to dampen the blankets under her hips. 

“Oh!” she says, surprised at the suddenness of it. “My water broke.” 

“Mmm, there we are,” Sky hums, waiting for most of the wetness to pass before they thrust back into her, the slide and stretch even easier than before. “Your body is ready to begin, darling.” 

Lydia feels her belly constrict now that her water’s broken, not uncomfortably so just yet, but enough that she notices the change. She tries to relax, muscles still pliant for now, giving herself up to Sky’s steady movements. The way this seems like part of a greater ritual meant to prepare her for birth is suddenly apparent—like it was a natural step in the process, and her body always needed it to bring their children forth into the world. 

There’s a gentle cramp low in her pelvis, radiating outward even as pleasure coexists alongside it. Lydia knows her body is opening up, slowly but surely, but still reaches down to rub herself with two fingers while Sky spreads her wide on their cock. The slowness of their lovemaking helps ease the way, and eventually she clenches and shudders through an orgasm that wrings out of her in a soft gasp. 

Sky’s climax follows soon after, filling her with seed that has nowhere to take yet. Lydia relishes in the pulsing of their cock, matched in time with the first real shallow pain that rocks through her pelvis. It doesn’t hurt enough to make her pause, but the discomfort is more noticeable than it was before when Sky finally softens and pulls out.

“Let’s get you into the warm water,” the gryphon urges after briefly attempting to clean Lydia up. “It’ll help soothe the pains.” 

And they’re right—so right, in fact, that Lydia spends the next several hours alternating between walking and swaying in the spring while her body shifts. The babies are strangely still, though she instinctively knows they’ve turned and their heads are facing downward. If she presses to the high point above her navel, she swears she can feel the shape of a hind leg and foot pressing from the inside out. 

“How much longer?” Lydia groans just after midnight, pillowing her head on her arms there in front of Sky where they lay like a sphinx, watching her intently. “They’re getting closer together now, the contractions.” 

“You’ll know when it’s time,” Sky says, licking some of the damp hair away from her temple before encouraging her to take a drink of cool water. “Your body will tell you.” 

Lydia sits on the cool stone at the edge of the pool and rests for a while, then returns to the soothing water when the pains begin again. One passes that makes her teeth grit in pain, and when it’s gone she shamelessly reaches down between her thighs to try and check how far along things are. Closer than she’d originally thought, but still not wide enough to let the baby through. 

“Try listening to something other than your own inner voice focusing on the pain,” Sky suggests, and if they hadn’t done this once before themselves Lydia would be raring to give the gryphon a piece of her mind. She draws in a shuddering breath but nods, moving to a shallower place in the spring so she can squat down in the water and alleviate some of the pain in her hips. 

It’s not easy, finding that place of silence in her mind. But she breathes, and sways back and forth, and breathes some more. The silence begins to transform itself, morphing into the familiar sound of the earth’s timeless breathing, like she’s been dropped down into the belly of the planet and can hear, see, feel every living thing growing, dying, and being reborn again. On and on and on it goes, until the rhythm of it builds up like a primal drumbeat inside her. 

“Sky,” she says after a time, not realizing that nearly an entire hour has passed in what feels like mere moments. “I need—I want to go to the nest, now.” 

Sky extends a talon and helps pull Lydia from the water, patiently standing at her side while she dries off and wraps her chest in a folded scarf. They move slowly, but together, all the way back to the protected nest. Furs and pelts surround it on three sides, now, and Lydia knows this is where she wants to be. Their kits were made here, and they’ll be born here, too. 

She settles into a leaning position and the pressure inside her immediately mounts even more. Lydia spreads her legs and wishes she had a mirror to keep track of what’s happening, but when she reaches down and checks she knows without seeing that the time has come.

Sky nudges between her trembling thighs, nosing at the place where pressure is steadily cresting, patient and tender. 

“It won’t be long,” they tell her, moving their handsome head back up to nuzzle the taut roundness of Lydia’s belly. “They’re ready to come into the light, now.” 

“Tell them to _hurry_ ,” Lydia says, straining as another wave of pain begins.

The weight shifts again, lower this time, heavy and urgent like something just within reach. Lydia starts panting, shallow and fast at first, until she remembers she can’t risk hyperventilating. But even with her breath slowed and deepened the pain refuses to subside. 

“Oh, it hurts,” she whimpers, reaching to clutch blindly at Sky’s fur. “It hurts, it hurts.” 

“Shh,” Sky says, leaning into her and licking the inner part of her forearm like a kiss. “Rise up on your knees,” they say. “It will help.” 

Naked from the chest down, Lydia kneels there in their nest and spreads her knees apart, hands braced on her shaking thighs. The pain in her pelvis lessens just enough to be something vaguely tolerable and once she’s up for half a minute things suddenly begin to happen fast. The urge to push is right there, like a shove between her shoulder blades making her bear down or elsewise plummet into oblivion, and instead of fighting it she braces herself and does what her body tells her to do. 

Sky watches, raptly attentive, head nearly flattened to the nest floor so they can follow the progression of things. “There,” they say after what feels like a small eternity, nuzzling the inside of Lydia’s knee in encouragement. “Feel for yourself, what you’ve done with your own strength.” 

Lydia reaches to feel between her legs and nearly weeps when her fingertips brush soft, damp fur crowning there. She briefly cups what must be the baby’s head in the palm of her hand, and Sky was right—maybe it’s only a third of the size of a human infant, small like a labrador puppy. The shock of feeling something so simultaneously strange and wonderful makes her eyes fill and overflow.

“That’s our baby?” she sobs, tears streaking down her sweaty face while she kneels in front of the gryphon. “Sky. _Sky_.” 

“Yes,” Sky answers gently, touching their nose to her cheek again. The gryphon’s voice rasps faintly at the edges, laced with something that might be the tenderness of emotion. “Nearly here. Once the wings and shoulders are free, it will happen quickly.” 

Lydia nods, and breathes, and waits. Her braid is stuck to her clammy skin and she flips it over her shoulder, free from the stifling weight of her hair. Her chest is heavy and sore behind its loose binding, but the stone pendant Sky gave her still hangs from the long cord around her neck, swinging to and fro like a pendulum. She watches the crude amethyst, entranced, until the next pain comes and snaps her back to the present. 

Bearing down with all her might, she pushes with everything she’s got. It seems futile for a split second, like this single moment of agony might go on forever, and then unspoken instinct tells her to _catch_ and she lowers her cupped palms between her thighs just in time to cradle the wet bundle of their first baby, delivered right into her waiting hands. 

There’s a spell of that ancient silence, and then Sky leans forward to gently suck the infant’s airway clear while it’s still bound to its mother by the umbilical cord. Lydia draws the baby up onto the smaller swell of her belly and feels her face break into a grin when the kit snuffles and lets out a tiny, mewling cry. 

“Oh my God,” she says, shaking all over as Sky sits up to begin licking off the newborn with their soft tongue. She needs to lie down, feeling gravity pull her like a counterweight, and only barely manages to set the baby between Sky’s front feet before slumping over into the nest. 

“Lydia?” the gryphon says, looking away from the baby with urgency in their voice. 

“I’m okay, I’m alright,” she promises despite her swimming vision, cherishing this brief moment of reprieve before the next baby comes. “Just resting for now.” Lydia feels the low, aching cramp of another mild contraction already beginning and knows the afterbirth passes not too long after, which Sky is quick to dispose of once they’ve already bitten through the cord tying her to the baby. 

Lydia looks up at the newborn in question now that it’s mostly cleaned off, mesmerized by what she’s seeing—knowing full well she carried this small, miraculous thing around for six months in her belly, nurtured it, felt it kick and grow and respond to her touch. It’s as much a part of her as it is a part of Sky.

The kit is even darker than its four-legged parent, stormy in complexion and almost bluish black. Its tiny wings, still damp as new butterfly wings, are mostly featherless and folded against its back. Lydia knows without asking that the baby has been born with its eyes still fused shut, blind like a newborn kitten.

“Let me hold them,” she says from where she lays, voice wobbling just a little. “Please, Sky.” 

Sky is happy to oblige, carefully picking the kit up by its scruff and setting it down there in the crook of Lydia’s arm. She touches the soft fur on its head, the impossibly small ear flaps, the delicate joints where its wings sprout from its shoulders. Perfect in every way. 

The kit, on instinct, mewls and roots around in her arms, restless and eager for something despite being only minutes old.

“They’re hungry,” Sky says softly, kneeling down to nudge the wrapping around Lydia’s chest to indicate what she needs to do. “It will help the others come more quickly.” 

It’s incredibly odd to think this is something her body was made to accommodate in terms of a human baby, much less a four-legged one, but Lydia nonetheless pulls the scarf down and brings the baby up to her chest. The tiny mouth finds what it needs and latches on, hungrily nursing until it quiets and stills, warm and safe where it’s tucked into the circle of its mother’s arms. 

Lydia is only beginning to drowse off herself when she feels the familiar warm wetness of Sky’s tongue on her, cleaning up some of the mess from between her thighs. It’s a tender thing, and she’s far too tired to garner any pleasure from this—only the profound gratefulness from being cared for so well. 

By the time Sky has brought Lydia some brewed tea and fluffed up the soft moss in the nest, the pains have begun again. She tries to focus on the kit kneading at her chest, letting the gentle movements soothe her when nothing else can. But then the pressure low in her pelvis has returned, and she stays curled on her side, pulling one knee up to ease the way. 

With one baby still held close, Lydia reaches down and helps guide the next one into the world. The second kit comes much quicker than the first, just like Sky said they would, still wrapped in its caul when Sky begins licking it until the baby wriggles and lets out a tiny sound. 

Hearing the kit draw in its first breath and squeak between the careful cradle of Sky’s forelegs makes Lydia’s eyes burn. She’s already exhausted and ready for this to be over, but once Sky’s cleaned the new kit’s coat she’s startled to see its coloring matches her own hair almost perfectly. 

“I didn’t think…” she starts to say, throat tightening as she tries to blink back grateful tears. Sky picks up the kit and places it in her hands, and Lydia touches its down-soft fur, still slightly damp, marveling at the ways nature works its miracles. How could she have not known something she made would have a part of her in it, too? Lydia looks down at their tiny baby and knows the thing she’s feeling swell and ache behind her breastbone can’t be anything but love. 

Their firstborn is already curled up and sleeping in a patch of moss, but this one needs help finding the way to nurse. Once it’s purring and kneading at Lydia’s chest, Sky comes over to inspect the kit again with a gentle huff of breath before touching their nose to Lydia’s temple. 

“Your child favors you,” they say, laying down at her side. “They will make a beautiful guardian.” 

Lydia nods, weary but thankful. Already her body is at work again, slowly building itself up toward tonight’s final swan song. She hurts, and everything is sore, and she already supposes she’ll be sleeping and soaking herself in Sky’s magic salve for the next week or longer—but she’s not finished yet. When the second kit is finished nursing, she tucks it into the moss with its sibling and gingerly rises up into a squat again, but the effort of staying upright is almost too much to bear now that she’s already brought two babies into the world. 

“I’m tired, Sky,” she says faintly, wincing as a fresh contraction ripples through her. “I want to be done.” 

“You’re nearly finished, darling,” Sky promises, curving their graceful neck around to butt their head against Lydia’s chest. “Lean on me, if you need it. I’ll be here with you until the end.” 

Lydia stays there on her knees, arms wrapped around Sky’s neck, face pressed into the soft fur between their ears while labor works in her body. She rocks a little in place, trying to draw comfort from Sky’s rumbling purrs and their warm nose pressed against her hip, the shape of it something she’s memorized like a tattoo on her skin. 

When instinct tells her to push, she does. Again, and again, and again—but even after what feels like forever, the kit isn’t even crowning. Lydia brings trembling fingers to the place between her thighs and tries to feel, but the baby is still lodged inside. 

Fear spikes through her blood like a poison, making her sweat and her body tense. Hot tears roll down her face and into Sky’s fur as she sends up some silent prayer for this to be over. 

“What if they get stuck, Sky,” she whispers, shaking all over as her voice cracks. “I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“You can,” Sky says, brushing their muzzle against Lydia’s side before drawing away. “You will, Lydia. There isn’t any other choice.” 

Lydia cries harder, vision swimming with tears. “Help me,” she says. “I need you to do something.” 

Sky is quiet for a time, and then blinks those golden eyes, soft and intelligent. “Lie back down,” the gryphon says. “Relax and let your body work. If you panic, the kit won’t come.” 

Lydia does as she’s told, feeling hurt and spurned until Sky lowers themself between her thighs and begins tenderly licking through her folds. At first Lydia’s afraid it may make things worse, but then some of the soreness begins to subside, and soon enough she’s relaxed back into the nest other than the pelvic contractions coming close together. She still doesn’t feel ready to push again, but as Sky laps over her clit tension bleeds freely from between her shoulders and the knotted muscles at the small of her back.

Another gush of fluid trickles out, and Lydia’s so far elsewhere in her mind in that place where the forest begins and ends that she doesn’t feel the baby beginning to crown until Sky’s voice breaks back into her thoughts. 

“Now,” they say, firm but encouraging. “Finish it now, Lydia. With all your strength.”

And she does. 

Lydia sees lifetimes that aren’t hers on the back of her eyelids as she bears down, body clenching like a wrathful fist. She watches ancient trees grow and topple and rot into the earth, the rounded heads of fungi springing from moist soil, a stag falling to its knees with blood at its throat, and then how its bones are picked clean and bleached by the sun until they’re the dusty white of sacred ash. 

The wind howls, Lydia cries out, and then Sky is taking their third and final kit by the scruff of its neck, where, against all odds, Lydia can see a bright crescent of white between its tiny dark wings like a shard of silver moon.

She smiles through tears because there’s nothing else left to do, and gently, carefully draws the baby up onto her chest to rest and breathe its first breaths. 

“Hello, little one,” she says, listening to its tiny mewls and squeaks with gratitude in her heart. She presses a thumb over the white mark on their neck and makes a wish only she knows. “Hello, hello. Welcome to the world.”

And later, when Sky is curled around all four of them protectively, warm and content in their nest, Lydia knows she has never truly felt more at peace. Sleep will come eventually, but for now it’s enough to know that she and the family she chose are safe and perfectly healthy. Lydia strokes the baby-soft fur on their tiny faces and touches the marbled pads of their feet and has never felt more sure of herself and what she wants. 

It’s all right here, for Lydia and her Sky and nobody else.  
  
  


* * * * *   
  
  
  


In the weeks to come, the kits will nurse and grow and change with every passing day. Their feathers grow in and their little eyes will open, and maybe Lydia won’t be so surprised when she sees her own eye color gazing back at her. Sky says they will be walking within a fortnight, and as sure as anything, all three kits climb down out of the nest and begin romping around the cavern with a curiosity and swiftness that seems to spring up overnight.

Their names are Nightcloud, Larkspur, and Moon Kite. Sky has other names for them, too, for when they’re older and coming into their own. Lydia loves her children so fiercely and tells them so, as she sings to them and teaches them the names of flowers and watches Sky spread wide wings to teach them to fly.

Maybe she eventually tells Sky she’s willing and ready to do it all again. Maybe, once the kits are six months old and half-grown, already out exploring the canyon on their own four feet, Lydia lays back in their nest and lets Sky fill her with another litter. Maybe, when her belly is starting to swell again and she grows tired of going back and forth to her condo in the city, she decides to stay. For a long time. Maybe forever. 

It’s a wide open world full of possibility. 

But for now, everything is exactly as it should be.  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for taking the time to read this, a very niche original work with a very lackluster summary lol. Feel free to drop me a line if you enjoyed! I'm always curious to know if folks would enjoy more creature fic in a similar vein focused around romance and softer takes on kink.


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